


Unrealized Peacekeeper, Part 1 - Learning the Ropes

by OneEye_the_DRD



Series: Unrealized Peacekeeper [1]
Category: Farscape
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Peacekeepers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 20:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 69,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16940055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneEye_the_DRD/pseuds/OneEye_the_DRD
Summary: This story was born from a single scene in the 4th season Farscape episode, "Unrealized Reality"; those of you who have seen the episode will probably recognize which scene almost immediately. For those of you who HAVEN'T seen the episode, the prologue could be considered a spoiler for the scene in question, and maybe for the episode as a whole.I got to thinking about that scene after watching the episode, and wondering what small change might have happened to lead John Crichton down that road, to become that man. The answer I ended up with was simple: the wormhole that brought him to the UTs deposited him about ten feet to the right of his original exit point. That's all.





	1. Prologue - After

He gazes down at the woman's body, breathing heavily as the shock and adrenaline wear off. The cuts on his cheek sting, and the echoes of pulse fire and shattering glass still ring in his ears. _Damn_ , he thinks to himself, _she was a spy after all. Boy, did she have me fooled_.

The pulse pistol weighs heavily on his arm, hanging loosely at his side. Even after all these cycles, he still doesn't like this part of what his life has become. Killing. Death. And yet, in this instance, he feels a small smile creep over his features. _Take that, you bastards. One point for the good guys._

A small sound at his feet brings his mind back to duty, and he looks away from the dead Kalish. "Braca!" he exclaims, kneeling down at the side of his loyal officer. The man had placed his body between him and the spy when she shot at him; an ugly wound seeps blood across his uniform as Braca gasps for breath. He could call for a medic, but from the location of the injury, the captain knows nothing can be done.

The lieutenant grasps the captain's hand with his own. "-was ... worth it ... Captain," he gasps out, blood spattering his lips with each word. "You'll ... make them ... pay."

The captain bows his head in gratitude and grief. "It has been an honor serving with you, Lieutenant Braca." The man's eyes brighten for a moment at the words, then fade, one long rattling exhalation announcing his passing.

John Robert Crichton-human, scientist, astronaut, and now Peacekeeper captain-closes his eyes and inscribes yet another name onto the black memorial wall he's built inside his mind, to join the ranks of other friends, compatriots, lovers, and brothers-in-arms. Hundreds of names, by now. All of them brought down by the scourge of the known universe.

It's amazing to think that, as little as seven cycles ago, John Crichton had never even heard of the Scarrans.


	2. Ships Passing in the Night

_"My people might have helped you..." - Aeryn Sun_

"I'm on another planet." He said the words, but the idea, the whole concept, just wasn't sinking in. This was all still so unreal. One minute he was zipping along in Earth orbit, playing the mad scientist, and the next he was sliding down the world's wildest roller coaster, floating in an asteroid field, dodging and nearly colliding with a bunch of mutant X-wing fighters, and getting swallowed by a huge, living space ship. Since then, he'd been choked, injected, spat on, knocked unconscious, stripped naked, and beaten up by a chick.

"Come on," said a voice from behind him. Speak of the devil. He turned and looked at the Peacekeeper woman, who was actually pretty attractive now that she wasn't sitting on his face. "I've relayed our rendezvous point. We can get off this wastehole of a planet." Okay, scratch that-she'd been damn attractive even when she _was_ sitting on his face.

With one last look back at the amazing city, bathed in the light of twin suns-"wastehole", perhaps, but still a pretty awesome sight-he followed after the woman.

Moments later, the distinctive hum of an engine drew their eyes upwards. A boxy-looking vessel lifted gently into the air from the nearby port area and flew over their heads.

"That's the Leviathan's pod," Officer Sun exclaimed. "They're getting away! Come on, we have to report it."

"Hey!" John objected, "aren't we about to be rescued any minute?" He grabbed at her arm to stop her headlong rush away. "I mean, they're no danger to us, right?"

The soldier looked at him like he was nuts. "They are prisoners. Escaped prisoners. They must be recaptured!" She watched him for a moment, waiting for something-perhaps agreement, or just some sign of comprehension-then clucked her tongue in disgust and stalked away.

John watched her for a moment, grumbling inside his head at the woman's one-track mind, but quickly set off after her. He'd made his choice, after the breakout, and he'd chosen her side. Nasty and violent as the situation had seemed from inside the Leviathan, the truth was that Officer Sun's people were the cops, for all intents and purposes, and the escapees were the criminals. So far, Ms. Sun had been nothing but a royal bitch, but at least she looked human. (Right, Johnnny-boy, his subconscious whispered, like your hormones didn't cast the deciding vote in that little debate...)

They reached her ship-called a "Prowler", he'd learned-and he listened while she made her report. Just as she was climbing down to the ground again, a squad of black-clad and helmeted soldiers marched up, led by a swarthy-skinned man with dark curly hair, mustache and close-cropped beard.

Officer Sun immediately sprang to attention. Crichton eased back into the shadow of the fighter, suddenly feeling nervous and slightly intimidated.

"Officer Sun," the man greeted formally, nodding his head sharply.

"Lieutenant Crais."

The lieutenant then stepped past her without another glance and walked up to Crichton. "And you, I am informed, were the pilot of the small white ship I nearly collided with during the battle?"

John just nodded, unable to form a coherent reply.

"What are your rank and regiment? And why are you out of uniform?"

This, John found, he could muster an answer for; he'd heard the question before. But before he could do more than open his mouth, Officer Sun piped up. "Sir, he claims to be a 'human', from a planet called 'Erp'."

John turned to look at her, mouthing 'Erp?', amused in spite of the tension. "And you are?" he asked, turning back to the lieutenant, trying to gain some sort of foothold in this conversation.

"Lieutenant Tauvo Crais, Verstar Regiment. You aren't Sebacean?"

"'Fraid not."

"Interesting." The man paused, and John could almost see him pondering the implications. Finally, he continued. "You'll have to come with us. Captain's orders." With that, he turned and marched away.

John thought about objecting. The brusque, superior attitude of these people, and the scary stormtrooper vibe he was getting from the well-armed soldiers surrounding him, made him wonder if he'd actually be better off on his own. But then reality set in again. He was lost, alone, with no ship, no money, and no way home. Without help, he'd probably eat a bad mushroom or step on the wrong toes and be dead within a week.

He started to agree, but his momentary hesitation had already triggered a response. Two armored soldiers grabbed him, one by each arm, and half-dragged him after their departing lieutenant. He shrugged them off after a few steps and walked on his own, but they remained in close flanking positions all the way to their vessel.

 

* * *

 

The ride up to the Peacekeeper ship was mostly uneventful. John found himself essentially ignored by everyone, though he was sure that would change instantly if he gave in to his curiosity and tried to touch any of the thousand things that caught his eye. Where the Leviathan corridors had been smooth, spacious, and organic, the Marauder was reminiscent of riding in a submarine, with cramped conditions and minimal attention to aesthetics.

The Vigilante, once they arrived, was a slight improvement; he could walk upright and not feel like he was about to smash into an overhead conduit every ten feet. He continued to be blatantly ignored by everyone, and yet he somehow found himself herded swiftly and efficiently to the command deck.

"Report!" Lt. Crais barked as they entered.

"Sir, the Leviathan has broken out of orbit and is fleeing. We are in pursuit, and will overtake them within five hundred microts."

"Weapons officer, ready the immobilizer pulse cannon. Inform me when we are within optimum range."

John could see the silhouette of the other ship on the display screen, moving away. He couldn't quite decide what outcome he was hoping for. True, the beings on that ship were prisoners. Criminals. The big one, with the tentacles, certainly seemed violent and hostile. But the other two? Well, the little greenish one, the one who called himself "Rygel XVI", had claimed to be a deposed ruler of some type. So he was either a political prisoner, or a delusional nut case with a Napoleon complex. Probably the latter, but certainly not very dangerous. And the blue woman had been civil to him, as much as the situation seemed to allow. She had calmed the other two's tempers when things seemed about to turn nasty, and had given Officer Sun no more than a reproachful look for attempting to conceal a fork in her sleeve. For her sake, at least, he almost hoped they managed to escape.

For purely selfish reasons, of course, he wanted that ship caught. The _Farscape_ module was still aboard, containing just about every possession he now had to his name. It was mostly just some extra clothing, which he'd packed along in case he was stuck in orbit on the shuttle for a while due to weather delays at the landing site or something. But the module herself had some potentially useful items among her instruments. Without that ship, all he had were the clothes on his back and his father's puzzle ring, still hanging from a chain around his neck.

As the minutes passed, the image on the screen grew larger. "Approaching optimum range, sir," called a woman standing at a workstation nearby.

"Prepare to fire on my command," Crais replied.

Suddenly, there was something that looked like a puff of smoke or dust from the rear of the Leviathan. The cloud spread quickly, obscuring the view of their quarry.

"Sir!" called another officer from across the room, "The Leviathan has ejected a great deal of debris into our flight path, blocking our weapons."

"What kind of debris?" asked the lieutenant, marching over to look at the readings himself.

"It appears that the ship allowed an explosive decompression of its landing and maintenance bays. The field includes everything from small tools and spare parts up to entire transport pods. Sir, the prisoners could have concealed explosive devices within the debris; such devices could cause severe damage to this vessel if we don't move to avoid the field."

"How long until the Leviathan will be able to starburst again?"

"I estimate less than a quarter of an arn, sir."

"Frell," the dark man muttered. He paused, gazing at the screen and the rapidly approaching cloud of junk. Finally, he shook his head. "No, it's not worth risking the ship just to catch them now. Helm, evasive maneuvers; take us around the debris field. We'll continue the pursuit and hope your estimate of the Leviathan's recuperative ability was over-generous. If it wasn't, there will be other opportunities to recapture them later."

As the ship swerved to avoid the debris, John caught a flash of white from inside the cloud. It was only for an instant and then gone. He started to open his mouth, but the glare from the soldier at his side made him swallow the words before they were spoken.

Several more minutes of silent pursuit went by, ending only when the flash of bright light announced that the prey had slipped the noose.

There was a tense silence on the bridge, but then the lieutenant simply said, "Set a return course to the carrier, best speed."

"Lieutenant?" John risked speaking at last. The look he got in return was one of surprise. Crais had apparently forgotten about this strange not-alien alien during the chase. He simply raised an eyebrow, inviting the man to speak further.

"When we passed the debris field earlier, I think I saw my module. Would it be possible to retrieve it before we leave?"

"Why?" Crais asked.

John paused. Simply saying 'because I want it' would likely not get him far with this crowd. Crais wanted to know what was in it for him. "Because it may help provide some of the answers to the questions you said your captain wanted to pose." Bullshit, but very plausible bullshit. The module hadn't been set up to take the kinds of readings he'd need to figure out what had happened to him. All the observations and readings were being made by the _Collaroy,_ or by DK in mission control. But this guy didn't need to know that, and if a little white lie would get him the _Farscape_ back, he'd do what it took.

The Peacekeeper seemed to consider that for a moment, then instructed his helmsman to redirect their course back to the debris field.

 

* * *

 

When he'd first caught sight of the Leviathan, Crichton had been awestruck at the size of the vessel. The command carrier, when they finally arrived, blew his mind. It was a city in space, miles long. The rest of the convoy, which included several other Leviathans, looked like a school of minnows trailing a great white shark. John's Earth-based sense of scale, where whales were big critters and the International Space Station, which would someday be almost 400 feet in length, would be the largest man-made object in space, was going to need some readjustment.

It was a longer march this time, from the landing bay to their destination, and they were joined once again by Officer Sun, who had flown as part of the Prowler squadron flanking the Vigilante during the pursuit. They arrived, after dozens of turns and identical-looking corridors, outside a double door with a circular window cut into the center.

Lieutenant Crais strode through the doors and into the room beyond without knocking or otherwise requesting entry. Officer Sun and the guards hung back, staying in the corridor, so John followed their lead. The doors remained open.

"Lieutenant Tauvo Crais, reporting as ordered, Captain," the man said in a jaunty, almost jovial voice that didn't really fit with the formality of the words.

The man seated at the desk just inside the doors looked up. For just a second, his expression was animated, a mixture of annoyance and affection. Once he spotted the group still standing outside, however, he schooled his face immediately into a picture of stern authority.

"Report, Lieutenant," he said.

"We successfully recovered Officer Sun, the prowler pilot who was pulled along when the Leviathan starburst, and the pilot of the small white pod which appeared during the battle, as you ordered. We also managed to procure his pod for analysis."

"But you failed to recapture the prisoners."

"Yes, sir. The ship went into starburst again before we could achieve optimum firing range for the immobilizer pulse."

"I see," the captain growled, clearly put out by the failure. "Well, then, we will begin posting wanted beacons at nearby commerce planets. Perhaps some bounty hunter will be able to succeed where you failed."

"Will that be all, sir?" Tauvo asked, subdued.

"No. Bring in the prowler pilot and ... the other one."

The lieutenant turned and gestured. Officer Sun walked in first, and John found himself shoved inside the room without so much as a by-your-leave.

"Hey!" he objected. The stress of the day's events was wearing down his patience. "Tell your goons to lay off the rough stuff, Captain. I'm a big boy and I can walk on my own."

The captain barely even glanced in his direction, and certainly did not acknowledge his complaint. "Officer Sun, make your report," he ordered instead.

The woman stood at stiff attention and recounted, in a toneless voice, how she'd been knocked out by the starburst and awoken in a cell aboard the Leviathan. Learned that her cell mate was not Sebacean, as he appeared. Escaped to the planet when the prisoners stopped for supplies. (She neglected to mention that it had been John who had procured the fork that effected their escape.)

As she finished retelling their meeting with Lt. Crais, he waved her silent. "That will be sufficient. Do you have any opinions regarding this ... alien? You have spent time with him."

"Sir, if you are concerned about contamination-" Officer Sun started nervously, only to be cut off.

"No, Officer Sun, I am not invoking contamination protocols. I am asking for your observations."

The woman glanced at John briefly before speaking. "Sir, he is primitive, ignorant, and undisciplined. I do not believe he is any threat to anyone."

John didn't know whether to be insulted at her unflattering assessment or grateful for what could have been a subtle effort to protect him. He had a feeling that being judged a threat by this man, this captain, could drastically shorten his life expectancy.

"Did he at any point mention how he happened to appear in the midst of our engagement with the Leviathan?"

She paused, reviewing her memory of the past solar day for the requested information. "Once, perhaps. He spoke of something called a 'rimhold'."

"That's 'wormhole', Ms. Sun, and could you folks please stop talking about me like I'm not here?" John was getting annoyed now.

Everyone else, however, acted as if he had not spoken. The captain's eyes never left the officer standing before him. He sat back, steepling his fingers for a moment in thought. "I did a brief review of your record after your capture, Officer Sun. I see that you just recently requested a transfer into a Marauder squadron."

"Yes, sir."

"Based on your resourcefulness in escaping your captors, and allowing that getting captured in the first place was not through any failure on your part, I am inclined to grant that request. Report to Senior Officer Jelko tomorrow morning for reassignment and training."

"Yes, sir!" Officer Sun's formerly impassive face finally broke into a stunning smile, quickly suppressed. John had no idea what had just happened, but she seemed happy about it. And that smile... He had a feeling he'd remember that smile for a very long time.

"Dismissed," the captain said sharply, waving her out. Once the officer was gone, he finally turned and let his attention rest on Crichton. At a small gesture, the soldiers that still flanked him shoved him forward.

"Name," the captain ordered.

John felt like a trained poodle, being asked to bark on cue. "It's, um, John Crichton."

"Your vessel appeared on our scans during the battle, out of nowhere. Our readings indicate a low level of technology, no weapons or shields in evidence. Now, normally, something so primitive would be of no interest to us. I am curious, however, about these 'wormholes' you mentioned to Officer Sun. Is that how you were able to penetrate so close to our position without being detected?"

"Captain, to tell you the truth, I have no fricking clue. Where I come from, wormholes are only theoretical, but the theory would explain some of what I remember happening."

"And what would that be?"

"I was in orbit, performing an experiment on gravity-boosted acceleration. There was a radiation wave, a blue flash, and suddenly I'm tumbling through a long tunnel. Next thing I know, I'm floating in open space and getting buzzed by your Prowlers. I don't know where the hell I am or how the hell I got here."

"And you claim you are not Sebacean?"

"Nope, human. Though the resemblance is spooky, I'll admit."

The man behind the desk looked skeptical. He sat back and pressed his fingertips together once again. "I am familiar with this 'wormhole' phenomenon you mentioned; there are rumors of some secret research being done in an effort to harness their power as a weapon. One of my primary missions as commander of this force is to discover and develop new weapons technologies. Some of our recent efforts have been less than fruitful-"

"Hey, Captain Queeg, I don't give a shit about your 'weapons research'. All I want to do is go home."

"My name," the captain said in a dangerous whisper, "is Captain Bialar Crais." John looked over at the lieutenant still standing nearby. Suddenly the family resemblance was obvious. The captain continued, "You would do well to remember that. You should also remember that you are here on my sufferance. At the moment, you aren't worth the air we would waste to flush you out an airlock. You are, however, to my knowledge, the only being to have both created and traveled through a wormhole. Even if it was unintentional. If you could do it once, perhaps you can do it again. It seems probable that, in order to get home, you will have to recreate the feat."

"Yeah, so?" John was starting to feel trapped, his options fading fast as reality closed its jaws around him.

"This technology interests me. In order to further Peacekeeper research, I am considering allowing you to remain aboard, to assist our techs in researching the problem."

"Do I have a choice?"

Captain Crais actually smiled, and the expression was infinitely more disturbing than his previous impassive demeanor. "Yes, as a matter of fact, you do. You can accept my offer of technical and personnel resources towards your research into wormholes, or you can attempt to make your way home on your own, with nothing but a primitive vessel and no means of support."

Crichton felt the trap snap shut and its teeth bite deep. Damn it, the man was right. Without help, it would be hopeless. Even if he managed to survive, alone in a society he didn't yet comprehend, he'd have to work just to put food in his mouth. Theoretical physics in the basement in his spare time? It would take years. Decades. And he wanted to go home NOW. Tomorrow morning, at the latest. Dad must be freaking out.

So, feeling like he was making a deal with the devil himself, John nodded acceptance.

"Tauvo," Crais said, turning away from John, "take this Crichton down to medical and have them do a full bioscan. I will contact Chief Gelvis and have some techs assigned to the project."

 

* * *

 

The medical exam was an interesting, if humiliating, experience. Roddenberry was added to John's list of space theorists who had gotten it grossly wrong; the scans were invasive and often painful, with little evidence of fancy remote scanners or friendly nurses in short skirts.

The med techs had apparently not been told who or what they were examining. Their initial tests were conducted in the bored, perfunctory manner of people who have done the same task a million times. But as the results started to come back, they became puzzled, then concerned. Some of the more uncomfortable tests were performed a second time, and even a third, despite John's protests.

After what seemed like many hours and whole quarts of blood and other bodily fluids removed and examined, the med techs were huddled together around a computer console, muttering to each other. John lay back on the exam bed-though nothing that hard or cold deserved the name 'bed'-with his eyes closed, trying to regain his equilibrium. He wasn't sure if the strange dizzy feeling was the result of the repetitious examinations and multiple samples, or just the events of the past day finally catching up to him. Either way, it felt good to just lie still for a while and let the world flow past him.

"Report!" a voice barked, startling John out of his stupor. Lt. Crais was standing nearby, addressing the med techs. John hadn't even heard him come in again.

The techs looked at each other for a moment, then one stood and approached the officer. "Sir, the subject is not Sebacean, in spite of appearances. His internal structures are quite different, as are his metabolic functions. Our first thought was that he had been modified to appear Sebacean, but we found no evidence of genetic surgery or other modifications. This is apparently his species' natural form."

Tauvo just nodded and turned to Crichton. "It appears you were telling the truth. You'll have to tell me about your homeworld sometime; I'd be interested to hear what it's like. At the moment, however, you'd better come with me."

"Where to?" John asked, struggling to sit up. He was sore, and exhausted, and the dizziness had not completely faded.

"Captain's asked me to introduce you to the techs you've been assigned to before the end of the daywatch, and then show you to your quarters."

"Lieutenant," John said tentatively once they were in the corridor. The hallways were busy without being crowded, but no one paid them any attention. "Would it be all right if I asked you some questions?"

"What about?" Crais asked sharply. "You aren't cleared for any sensitive information-"

"No, no, nothing like that," John assured him. "I'm a bit out of my depth here. I know your species is called 'Sebacean', and you call yourselves 'Peacekeepers', but I don't have any frame of reference. Are you a military force serving as protection of some, well, federation or empire?"

Crais looked surprised; the concept of someone not knowing about the Peacekeepers was apparently foreign to him. "No, we do not serve any single governing body. We are an independent mercenary force, which many cultures hire to keep order, to protect them against aggressive neighbors, and to suppress internal dissention."

"Your captain seems real hot for newer, bigger, and better weapons. Sounds like an arms race to me, so I have to wonder, who're the black hats?"

"'Black hats'?" Tauvo asked, baffled at the untranslatable term.

"The evil empire. The Red Menace. The big bad wolf. You're preparing for a war, so who's the enemy?"

"Ah," Tauvo nodded, frowning. "You mean the Scarrans. They are the Peacekeepers' principal opposition, the biggest threat we face. Most Peacekeepers aren't aware of it, but the Scarrans outnumber us greatly. Our strong interest in weapons research is primarily an effort to counter that disadvantage."

"Hm," John said, noncommittally. The name meant nothing to him, and so failed to conjure up the horrors in his mind that Tauvo obviously saw. "You say most aren't aware of that; I'm assuming you learned of it from the captain?"

"Yes," Tauvo admitted. "Captain Crais is my brother."

"I kind of guessed that," John admitted, grinning.

Tauvo saw the friendly expression out of the corner of his eye and nearly responded in kind. The shadow of a smile flashed over his expression before he got himself under control again. Just in time, too, as such a lack of discipline would have been a poor example to show the corps of cadets that marched past them a moment later.

Crichton stared at the cadets as they passed, eyes wide. "You have _children_ aboard this ship?" he asked incredulously.

"Children? Those were senior cadets in their final cycle of training. Most will be full Peacekeepers within just a few monens."

"Wait, you start training as soldiers that young? They couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen years old!"

"Carrier-bred children begin training from the time they can walk. Those of us recruited from planets are usually brought in to begin training before they reach eight cycles, and have to work hard to catch up."

"You were planet-born? How old were you and your brother when you joined up?" Crichton seemed torn between curiosity and horror.

"Bialar was seven cycles, and I was five, when we were recruited for Peacekeeper service."

"'Recruited'? You weren't given a choice?"

"What 'choice'? It was an honor to be selected!" Tauvo insisted.

Crichton just shook his head. "If you say so, pal. Man," he sighed, looking around and changing the subject, "this place is a maze. I am _never_ gonna learn my way around."

This time Tauvo did smile. "I wouldn't worry about that at the moment, human. You aren't going to be allowed to wander around without an escort, at least not anytime soon. It is as much for your protection as it is for ours; aliens are not particularly welcomed by Peacekeepers, particularly the carrier-bred. Most have never even spoken to anyone who wasn't a Peacekeeper, much less to a non-Sebacean."

"You don't seem to have a problem with it," John noted.

"Ah, but I was planet-bred. It makes me, perhaps, a bit more open-minded." Crais stopped walking then, outside a door that looked, for all John could see, exactly like every other door they had passed for the past ten minutes.

Tauvo waved a hand over a sensor pad next to the doorway, and the door slid open. Inside was a group of half a dozen Sebaceans, all in gray jumpsuits.

Tauvo approached the group, with Crichton following half a step behind. "Chief Gelvis," he began, addressing an older-looking man who stood slightly apart from the group. "This is the individual the captain spoke to you about. John Crichton, this is Chief Tech Kiro Gelvis."

John held his hand out, but Gelvis just looked at him blankly. After a moment, John lowered his hand again and nodded. Tauvo continued, "Chief Gelvis has assembled a team which will work with you in pursuing the research. Gelvis, can you introduce them?"

Gelvis nodded. "From left to right, Techs Eklen Albar, Betal Wingro, Noema Maen, Gilina Renaez, Alanee Wolv, and Jolad Saitek."

John nodded at each as they were introduced, quite aware that he'd have to relearn their names later because they were coming too fast to process just now. In general, they appeared to be slighter and smaller than the soldiers he'd encountered; he wondered if selection as a tech might not have more to do with physical size and strength than aptitude for the work.

The group was watching him, waiting. He supposed they were expecting him to say something profound. "I'm not sure how much you've been told, so I'll tell you what little I know. I'm human, not Sebacean, and I arrived here from my homeworld via an unknown phenomenon that could have been a wormhole. Captain Crais wants me to work with you to confirm this and perform research, with a view towards harnessing wormhole technology. Since I'm new to your part of space, we'll have to start small. I know a bit about some theories behind wormholes, but I know nothing about your technology. I'll teach you what I know, if you all will help me learn in return."

He looked across the faces gazing back at him. Most wore blank expressions, with no sign of interest or even comprehension. One pair of eyes, however, was opened wide, blazing with curiosity and enthusiasm. It was a slim, slightly built woman with short blonde hair. What had Gelvis called her? Gilina?

John tagged her in his mind as the most likely candidate to help him cope and learn. He was in a strange new world, but now, for the first time, John began to think it might not be all bad.


	3. Goin' Nowhere Fast

_"I have no idea what goes on in that tiny little brain of yours..." - John Crichton_

 

"Man," John groaned, gripping his head in his hands. "I feel like I've been cramming for a physics final for weeks."

Across the table, Gilina gave a small, shy smile. It was an expression that said, 'I have no idea what you just said, human, but I'm sure it was very amusing.' John had been seeing that look a lot recently.

"You've learned a great deal in a short time, John," she tried to reassure him.

"Yep," John sighed. "I can now read the PK equivalent of "Dick and Jane", open doors, and do some simple repairs. I can also convert meters per second into motras per microt at the drop of a hat. I'll have to remember to send Professor Rappaport a thank you note."

"Who?"

John grimaced at the memory. "A teacher I once had, for introductory physics. Liked to make students convert all their test answers into obscure units, like furlongs per fortnight. It was good practice for this." Having to adjust to an entirely new and alien set of measurements, constants, and concepts was the toughest part of the transition, so far. Well, second only to the sheer weirdness of living on a space ship, surrounded by thousands of people who'd just as soon kill him as shake his hand.

He and Gilina were sitting at a table in one of the carrier's many officers' lounges, drinking something called fellip nectar as they wound up another successful day of what John termed his 'elementary school' training. John was tired of feeling like the village idiot, and even more sick of being _treated_ that way by almost everyone aboard the carrier.

Gilina gave him that little smile again. She was just about the only person around here who took him seriously; she'd somehow managed to see past his initial ignorance about the details of their world and recognize his broad knowledge of the underlying science and engineering concepts. "At least we have your module almost completely upgraded now," she said, trying to cheer him up. "We can use it for wormhole experiments, if the Captain approves our proposal."

Now it was John's turn to smile. He and Gilina had had great fun tweaking his primitive little example of 'cutting edge technology'-which, in the beginning, was no better than a Cracker Jack toy by PK standards-into something that was, if not snazzy, at least serviceable. It was still small, underpowered, and underequipped compared to the Prowlers and Marauders it shared the hangar with-a Tin Lizzie parked in a garage alongside a fleet of HumVees and Maseratis-but it was no longer a complete laughingstock.

Modifying the _Farscape_ module had been Gilina's idea, as a way to gradually accustom him to their technology, as well as familiarize her with his. The other techs hadn't been eager to associate with the weird alien, especially outside of the laboratory, but Gilina had gradually learned to accept his quirks and enjoy his company. A friendly camaraderie had developed between them over the weeks ... weekens.

John's main frustration, lately, was his inability to progress the relationship any further. With that blonde hair and an intellect that equaled or surpassed his own, Gilina reminded him quite a bit of his last serious girlfriend, Alex. In all the right ways. But she was either blatantly ignoring his signals, or totally oblivious to them. Given that they were completely different species, he had to accept that the latter was quite possible.

John was about to empty the final drops from his drink when a loud, drunken-sounding voice came from over his shoulder. "Well, if it isn't our little tech Gilina and her pet alien. You have it trained to do tricks, yet?"

Gilina cringed, looking down into her empty glass. John knew from past arguments that she didn't deal well with confrontation, but kept silent. Anything he said would only make it worse. Catching her eye, he nodded towards the door, suggesting a tactical retreat. Gilina nodded, and they got up to leave.

Unfortunately, the drunken PK wasn't in the mood to let Gilina off the hook. He grabbed her by the arm, causing her to cry out in surprise and pain. "Or maybe you keep it around for recreation. Is that it, tralk? You get off on freaks?"

John's higher brain functions left the building at that point, and all thought of retreat went right out the window. Grabbing him by the arm that gripped Gilina, he dug his thumb into the underside of the man's wrist. Different as their species might be, the arrangement of muscles and tendons and nerves was similar enough that the PK let go.

John walked right up into the guy's face. "Listen, you frelling moron," he growled menacingly-he'd picked up a few choice expletives during his time here. "You got a problem with me? Take it up with me. Leave her out of it."

"Ooh," the grunt warbled, feigning fear for the entertainment of his friends. "The insect speaks! I could smear you across this floor with two fingers, 'oo-man'."

"You could try," Crichton said, Southern accent getting thicker by the microt. "And maybe I could rip off your balls and _feed_ 'em to you!" John got right in the guy's face, grinning maniacally. "Did that to a grizzly bear once back home, y'know, and those critters are probably twice your size, with claws and teeth long as your fingers. You really shouldn't try to _screw with me!_ "

No, John's brain was definitely no longer calling the shots here.

The Peacekeeper found himself backed up against the wall, having retreated instinctively from the mad, spitting creature before him. Strangely intimidated, but unwilling to show fear in front of his comrades, the grunt gathered his wits and threw a wild swing at the alien's face. Between the alcohol and the confused emotional state, though, the attempt overbalanced him when Crichton saw it coming and ducked. John, while not an experienced fighter by any standard-bravado and bluff notwithstanding-had survived a few bar brawls in his time. Seeing his opponent's vulnerability, he grabbed him by the neck and drove the man's face into his knee.

The grunt collapsed to the floor, his nose oozing blood, as Crichton stepped back and tried not to look shocked at the unexpected success.

Pressing his advantage, John turned to the crowd of other grunts looking on. "All right, you no-neck cretins-who's next?"

 

* * *

 

"Anyone get the license plate of that truck?" John muttered softly, raising a hand to his pounding head.

"John? Are you all right?"

He wondered why Gilina sounded so worried. It was just a hangover, right? His last clear memory was of drinking fellip nectar in the officers' lounge. Didn't Sebaceans get hangovers? He tried to sit up, but a stab of pain from his entire ribcage changed his mind. He groaned, as the discomfort finally brought a memory of what happened afterwards to the surface.

John opened his eyes to find Gilina leaning over him, her face revealing more emotion than he'd seen in any Peacekeeper since he arrived. Worry, and gratitude. Maybe something more, but he didn't feel up to thinking about that at the moment. Behind Gilina, standing with arms crossed and looking down, was the impassive face of Tauvo Crais.

"I don't know what a 'lizenss plate' or 'truck' are, Commander, but the man you fought with was Sub-Officer Saro Abljak."

"Gesundheit," John quipped, closing his eyes again.

"From what I heard," Tauvo said suddenly, ignoring the nonsensical riposte, "you were doing fairly well until you turned your back on him."

"Yeah, well, I got lucky on that first shot; he was drunk. Though I suppose I wasn't thinking too clearly myself."

"I'm told you made some interesting claims about your fighting experiences. Something about a 'grisly'?"

"Oh, that," John murmured. "Um, actually, that wasn't really true. Remind me to teach you a human game sometime. We call it 'poker'."

Tauvo didn't have any idea what the human was talking about, so just moved on to his next bit of information. "Captain Crais gave orders that you were not to be harmed. Abljak will be getting punishment duty for violating that directive."

John grunted, not much interested in details when his head was hurting this much. Just meant the guy would be gunning for him even harder next time, anyway.

"In the mean time," Tauvo continued, "I was actually on my way to speak to you on an entirely different matter when I heard about the incident. B- Captain Crais asked me to come discuss your research proposal with you. It's ... ambitious."

John opened his eyes, professional pride winning out over pain and personal humiliation. Sitting up, he propped himself against the wall before speaking. "Damn right it's ambitious. Your captain is asking me to harness a phenomenon that no one has ever seen, or even proven the existence of, on the basis of my fifteen seconds-sorry, ten microts-of experience with something that may or may not have been a wormhole. We've looked at the carrier's sensor logs for the time I arrived, but between the asteroid field's interference and the chaos of the battle, there's just not enough there to say anything for sure. We need detailed data and measurements and all kinds of information, from multiple observations, before we'll know if what Crais wants is even possible."

"So you want to take a team of techs to this star system you found in the files-way out in the Uncharted Territories, no less-to run these tests?" Tauvo asked.

"That's right. Now that we've got me up to a working level of PK education, and the techs have had some time to study wormhole theories, we need to go out and try to re-create what I did to get myself into this mess in the first place. And to do that, with any reasonable chance of success, we a star with a predictable solar flare cycle. It's the only thing we know that has even a chance of working."

Gilina chimed in. "We tried to find a good candidate in Peacekeeper territory, sir, but there weren't any stars scheduled to begin flare activity sooner than about a cycle and a half from now. The one we chose will peak in less than four monens."

"How many techs would you need to take with you, Crichton?"

"Well..." John paused, thinking. "Ideally, I'd say send the whole crew. Realistically?" John looked at Gilina, watching for disagreement. "If we had Gilina and one of the others, and a ship with all the sensors and instruments we need, running on automatic, I think we could hack it."

"Why her?" Tauvo asked, nodding at the blonde tech still hovering nearby.

Gilina ducked her head shyly, and John smiled in her direction. "Don't get me wrong, Lieutenant; every one of the people you assigned to this project is a brilliant engineer and technician. Given enough time, the six of them could build this command carrier from the ground up with nothing but baling wire and duct tape. But most of them never had the need to study esoteric theoretical physics before, and are having trouble really understanding it. Gilina, on the other hand, studied on her own and knew at least as much as I did about wormhole theories before we even met."

"I see." Tauvo didn't look at Gilina, but John was used to these soldiers' dismissive attitude towards the techs that kept their ship running. "All right," Crais continued, "I'll recommend that the captain approve your proposal and allocate a Marauder transport and a small crew to the mission."

"Try to find a crew that doesn't want to pound me into pudding, would ya Lieutenant?"

Tauvo almost smiled. "It will be difficult, but I will endeavor to find a few such people. There is time to be selective; according to your report, the star you'll be using won't enter its flare cycle for another four monens. The journey, on a marauder, will take less than two."

John was struck by a sudden thought. "You have any say about what kind of 'punishment' that grunt will get for attacking us?" he asked seriously.

"Yes..." Tauvo confirmed, warily. Bialar would listen to him if he made a suggestion.

"How about making him teach the 'primitive alien' how to defend himself? Make him responsible for my safety, even. Seems to me he'd find that sufficiently degrading to count as punishment, and it might help me survive the next time one of your xenophobic grunts has one too many. Besides, I've been needing a way to get some exercise around here."

Crais was shocked that a tech would be interested in learning self-defense. It wasn't their place to fight. But then, he reminded himself, this 'tech' was also a pilot. And he had managed to knock Abljak down once, even if a lot of luck had been involved. Simply challenging the soldier in the first place showed a warrior spirit of a kind he'd never seen in any tech.

"I'll consider it," Tauvo said grudgingly.

 

* * *

 

The ship shook, bucking and veering like a rodeo bull, while Crichton fought for control. The white-hot glow of atmospheric friction flickered outside the canopy, blocking any hope of vision. The roar of superheated gases flowing over the hull vied with the crackle of static from the coms.

_Man, I've missed this!_  
  
For the first time in close to six months-as he still measured time in his own mind-John Crichton was flying again.

The scientist in him had been content, for a time, sitting around tables in the labs of the carrier and tossing around theories on multi-dimensional physics. It was amazing how living on a huge spaceship, surrounded by hostile aliens who just happened to look human, could start to seem normal.

The carrier hadn't been idle during those months. On several occasions the ship had gone on a full alert, and John had been locked in his quarters for the duration. Most of those occasions turned out to be drills, but at least once, if the scuttlebutt amongst the techs could be believed, the carrier squadron had been in an actual skirmish with a small Scarran force. Other incidents, like the time they'd chased down and destroyed a Zenetan pirate vessel that had been raiding nearby trade routes, could occur without the non-combatants among the crew even being aware until it was over.

But now, after months of sitting idle, or occasionally getting the crap kicked out of him during his lessons with Sub-Officer Abljak, John was rediscovering his first love. Flying, in space or in atmosphere-there was nothing to compare to it.

He could hear a voice trying to call to him through the static, but the syllables were garbled. It was actually comforting to realize that, as far advanced as the Peacekeepers were, their technology still had limits. Throw enough ionized plasma at them, and their coms were just as useless as his old, now-discarded IASA radio.

At the proper moment, John pulled back hard on the controls and the _Farscape_ module blasted itself back out of the atmosphere-with nearly ten times the speed he'd begun the maneuver with. "Waaaaahoooooo!" he whooped, exulting in the victory. "DK, my man, we did it! It works!"

"John?" called a tentative voice over the coms, through the rapidly fading static.

"Yeah, Gilina, reading you loud and clear," he said, still giddy with success.

"Did something happen? Our instruments here didn't read any anomalies..."

"Nah, nothing happened on the wormhole front. I don't think I caught any flares that time, but I didn't really expect anything to happen on the first run, anyway. I'm just happy because the _Farscape_ effect really works, exactly like DK's and my theory said it would. It was a wild ride-eat your heart out, Walt Disney-but god damn, it _worked_!"

A second voice cut into the transmission then. "Crichton," the officer said, "turn around and decelerate immediately or you'll be off our scans."

"Oh, right," he murmured, noticing for the first time how far away from the planet he was getting. As he reached for the attitude thruster controls, a bright light flared through the canopy and he squinted his eyes. "Man, when this star flares it doesn't kid around. If we can catch one of those babies just right, we might actually get something interesting." Using the thrusters, he yawed the module around so he was facing back towards the planet, and then fired the engines backwards to slow himself down.

"Crichton," the officer called again, "return to the Marauder immediately; Techs Saitek and Renaez wish to inspect your module for damage before proceeding with the next test." The officer sounded impatient at the delay.

"Yeah, yeah, hold your horses," John muttered. "What's the hurry, got a hot date back on the carrier?"

There was an extended silence, and then, "A hot what? Crichton ... "

"Nothing, never mind," he called back, grinning with amusement. "Man, changing jobs sure didn't help develop you a sense of humor, did it, Ms. Sun?"

There was only silence from the woman at the other end of the coms. She might tolerate his human quirks better than most of her peers, which was why Crais had assigned her to this mission for her first official deployment as a Marauder commando, but that didn't mean she actually _liked_ him.

Once he made it back, the two techs got busy going over the _Farscape_ with a fine-toothed comb. John had a feeling they didn't really trust his primitive technology to hold together during rough atmospheric maneuvers, even though that was exactly what it had been designed for. While he was waiting for their okay so he could go try the experiment again, John wandered up the short corridor to the Marauder's tiny galley for a drink.

Hearing voices, he paused at the open door into the ship's command center. It was Senior Officer Jelko, speaking to his pilot.

"-suppose you find this mission far beneath your dignity, don't you Officer Sun?"

"I wouldn't say that, sir."

John could almost hear a smile in Jelko's voice, though he was sure no hint of any such thing actually reached his face. "Ah, but is that because it isn't true, or just because you don't think you're allowed to say it to a superior officer?"

There was a long moment of silence; John didn't think the woman was going to answer that, and was about to continue on up the corridor, when she broke the silence. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted."

"This is grot work, sir. I did not transfer to a Marauder squadron just to babysit a bunch of techs."

John smirked at that. He'd suspected as much, ever since the day Lt. Crais had informed her she'd been selected for this trip. Her face had gone totally blank, leaving only a slight tightening around the eyes to show her dismay.

"Well," Jelko replied to her complaint, "no one promised that your first mission would be exciting or prestigious. This is your training flight, and it is an exercise more in command skills than in commando skills. If you can succeed in a mission, even one as easy as this, with a crew of dumb grots like Esk and Fala, we figure you can probably survive anything. So far, you're doing an admirable job, and my reports reflect that."

"If you say so, sir."

"I happen to agree with you that a mission like this, going to some backwater planet just to watch some techs run their incomprehensible little tests for these wimmol-things-"

"Wormholes, sir," Sun interrupted. "Shortcuts across space; if they could be harnessed, they could allow a ship to arrive at a remote target and destroy it without warning."

John felt his jaw drop. Last time he'd seen Aeryn Sun, she'd known nothing about wormholes. Clearly she'd done some reading in the intervening months, and, even more impressive to him, she'd actually understood the basic concept and the implications of what she'd read.

"In addition, sir, I think the maneuver the human just demonstrated merits some study. It may have applications to prowler tactics around planetary bodies, particularly when a rapid withdrawal of forces is indicated."

_Oh, great,_ John thought sarcastically, shoving down a surge of selfish, egotistical pride, _the Farscape Effect co-opted as a weapon of war. Typical..._  
  
Jelko was clearly uninterested, however, which was far more typical among the Peacekeeper commandos John had encountered. "Whatever. While we're waiting for the techs to get back to it, Sun, I'd like you to run a scan..."

John eased away from the door and completed his interrupted journey to the galley. He was thirsty, and Gilina and Saitek were efficient, so he might not have much time. Part of his mind, however, lingered with Aeryn Sun; clearly there was more to her than met the eye.

 

* * *

 

"All right, moving into position for another run," John called out to his audience on the Marauder. " _Farscape One: The Search for Wormholes_ , take twelve ... action!"

Back with IASA, John's running monologue would have earned him either chuckles or groans-more likely both-from the folks down in Canaveral. Here, he had a slightly tougher crowd.

They were nearing the end of their second day of testing, still with no concrete success to speak of. The flares were unpredictable, and he'd only managed to time his run to coincide with one once. Unfortunately, that one had flashed over him near the beginning of the maneuver, before he'd built up much speed, and nothing had happened.

As he drifted towards his starting point, John took a moment to gaze down on the planet he was repeatedly circling. Another alien world, only the second one he'd seen with his own eyes since leaving home, and as different from the first one as that one had been from Earth. Bright yellow-brown, with barely any clouds in the atmosphere, it was a completely desert world. Tatooine, but without the ambience. Even so, the temptation to land, and to plant a human footprint in the surface as his father had done on Earth's moon, was almost irresistible.

"When you're ready, John," Gilina's voice crackled through his coms. He looked down at the instruments and saw he was in the correct position. Taking a deep breath, he reached forward and flipped the main engines to full power. A blast of acceleration threw him back in his seat, and the wild roller coaster ride began all over again. Dive straight into the atmosphere, at a 25 to 35 degree angle, let gravity do the work, and ride the bucking bronco while you wait for the breakout point-he'd done it enough times now that it was second nature.

As he neared apogee, he heard Gilina's static-garbled voice calling out to him. "... ohn, we...tecting ... lar flare ... ear me?"

A bright light, just as he was ready to pull up. When his eyes stopped blinking at the overload, they were drawn upwards, to a blue light. A funnel shape, twisting and spinning, leading down to nowhere. Gorgeous...

"John?" Gilina queried over the coms. "Can you ... me? Jo ... pl ... spond!"

_Home._ John was mesmerized. _This could be my way home._ The tunnel seemed to beckon to him, dancing just out of reach. _No more hostile aliens. No more playing pet scientist to some power-hungry military commander..._

"Jo ... " the techs were still calling to him. "... ot stable!"

_Dad_

"... ull up ... "

_Earth_

"... ust abor ... "

_Home_

"Crichton!" The sharp voice woke him from his reverie. Officer Sun. " ... ormhole ... unstab ... ull OUT!"

"Um, yeah," John muttered, shaking off the fugue. He could see now what they were trying to tell him; this wormhole he'd started was nowhere near stable, and would almost certainly take him nowhere. All it would do, most likely, is kill him, very messily. He yanked up on the controls, pulling up and banking right with full power to every reverse thruster he had. He almost made it clear, but at the last second, the wormhole seemed to reach out for him, and he blasted through the wall of the tunnel.

Several controls shorted out at the overload, but once the smoke cleared, John could see that the damage wasn't crippling. Behind him, the proto-wormhole shrank into itself and vanished, and he felt a pang of loss. And then, a thrill of hope. He'd done it! Unstable or not, he'd just taken one giant step on the yellow brick road back to Kansas.

He wanted to try it again. And again. Right away. Only a stern order from Jelko, along with the fact that his module's systems were still acting wonky from that narrow escape, convinced him to come back to the Marauder for repairs.

 

* * *

 

He was up all night, helping Gilina and Saitek pull the _Farscape_ apart and analyze the damage. He wanted the ship fixed as fast as possible, so he could get a dozen more flights in before the flares died down in a few days. The techs were almost as stoked as he was, just from seeing the data they'd recorded on that last run.

John couldn't sleep, he was so excited, even when they had the module back in top shape and Gilina told him to go to bed. He tried, knowing it really would be a good idea to be rested for his piloting the next day, but gave up after a couple of arns and went to the galley.

Unlike the carrier where the food was decent-though strange to his provincial tastes-the Marauder's limited storage space reduced their fare to something they called 'food cubes'. John remembered them from his brief stay on that escaped Leviathan back when he'd first arrived, and they were no better-tasting now. But munching on the rubbery concoctions did at least pass the time and fill his neglected stomach.

It seemed like forever until the rest of the crew woke up and started the day. John was champing at the bit, all fitted out and helmet in hand ready to climb into the module the microt he had the go-ahead.

Finally, it came. He bounced into the cockpit and sealed the canopy, then ran through a complete pre-flight checklist-only sensible when the ship had been taken to pieces and put back together since the last trip-and started warming up the engines.

"Commander Crichton," Senior Officer Jelko called down from the command center. "Stand down and discontinue your preparations. We've received orders from the carrier and will have to postpone further tests until our new mission is completed."

"What?" John exclaimed, stunned. "Nonononono, we can't stop now! The flares will be gone soon, and we won't be able to do anything after that. This could be my way home, damn it!"

"Orders, Commander." As if that made everything right.

Ten microts later, John stormed into the command center. He was still zipped into his flight suit, though he'd at least left the helmet behind. "What the hell could be so fucking important that Crais would pull us out? He wanted this!" While he usually endeavored to be deferential to the Peacekeeper commandos he had to deal with, just to blend in better, John was in no mood to be polite right now.

Jelko was stubbornly silent, deliberately not looking at Crichton. Seeing her commanding officer about ready to explode, Officer Sun endeavored to calm things by explaining. "After those prisoners escaped on the Leviathan half a cycle ago, Captain Crais detailed several Marauder crews to infiltrate the Uncharted Territories and track them down. One such crew has discovered the remains of the one of our command carriers, which was reported missing over one hundred cycles ago. The crew that discovered it, however, had no techs aboard and couldn't perform a full survey. They informed the carrier, and the carrier just signaled us. We are the only ship Captain Crais has in the area that has the resources required."

"So, what, we're going to go raise the _Titanic_? It's been there a hundred years; it can wait a few more days!"

"We. Have. Our. Orders." Jelko's voice was dangerous.

"Well, to hell with your fucking orders, G.I. Joe! This is my-"

Senior Officer Jelko, apparently losing patience with this insolent probakto, rose to his feet, turned in one smooth motion, and aimed a perfect Pantak jab at Crichton's face.

John blocked the strike and stepped back, his protest left unfinished as he sent silent thanks to his reluctant savior, Abljak. Jelko was obviously quite shocked that a mere tech, and an alien one at that, had thwarted him. A tide of red started rising from under his collar, and Crichton backed away further towards the door.

Suddenly, Officer Sun appeared in the space between them, facing her superior officer. "Sir," she said calmly, "Captain Crais gave explicit orders that Crichton was not to be harmed, no matter what the provocation." She turned then and speared the human with her eyes. "As for you, I suggest you keep your frelling mouth shut and return to the hangar to secure your equipment for travel; we will be leaving this system within a quarter arn."

John looked from her to the still-seething figure behind her. His indignation at the change in plans was undiminished, but he also could see the wisdom of Sun's 'suggestion'. He'd seen examples of Peacekeeper disciplinary methods, which were universally harsh and usually involved bruises or bloodshed. Jelko was pissed, and, orders or no orders, he would probably take John apart if he spoke another word.

This slavish adherence to orders in the absence of logic really set John's teeth on edge, and here it was robbing him of his dreams. Had Officer Sun not been there, he probably would have thrown caution to the winds and tried to fight Jelko for the right to complete his experiments. But the woman was still glaring at him, and her eyes managed to drill past his reptile brain and awaken a small shred of his seldom-used common sense.

He backed out of the command center and stalked back down to the tiny hangar bay, grumbling invectives under his breath and barely noticing that Gilina, who had been lurking outside the command doors listening, was following him.

He picked up the first item that came to hand when he reached the hangar and threw it across the room in a fit of pique. The spanner ricocheted off two walls before falling to the deck again.

Gilina ran a hand up John's back and shoulder, trying to comfort and calm his tension as he stood there staring at his now-grounded module. "There will be other times, John. We got good data on your successful run yesterday, and it's possible we wouldn't have gotten another before the flares were over, even if we'd been allowed to continue. Just be glad we got the time to succeed even once."

John walked over and laid a single hand against the side of his module. "So close..."


	4. Trial by Fire

_"Well, I try to save a life a day. Usually, it's my own..." - John Crichton_

 

"So, that's the big mystery ship, huh?" John commented, staring at the picture on the viewscreen.

It had taken three weekens of travel to reach the location of the missing carrier. And almost that long for tempers to finally settle down between Crichton and Jelko.

Finally, though, John had accepted that Gilina was right-he should be grateful for their one success and not dwell on opportunities lost. They had good data now; hopefully, it would be enough.

In the meantime, the PKs had dragged his ass halfway across the galaxy looking for a shipwreck.

"That's the _Zelbinion_ ," Gilina said, her voice hushed with wonder and sadness.

"Man, someone sure pounded the hell out of that thing. Hope whoever it was isn't hanging around anymore."

"No species we're aware of should have been able to destroy her," the other tech, Saitek, said from behind them. "She was the largest and most powerful ship the Peacekeepers ever constructed, and was commanded by one of our most revered heroes, Captain Selto Durka. That's why we were ordered to do a full survey; High Command needs an explanation for her defeat."

The three of them were huddled together in the sensor bay the Marauder had been equipped with for the wormhole experiments. Marauders were very versatile spacecraft, with a number of sub-types within the class. They performed tasks ranging from straight cargo and troop transportation to long-range scouting, intelligence gathering, and commando raids. Battle types had more power and weapons, while the cargo and troop transports were stripped down to provide more interior space. Fitting one of the cargo variety out for a scientific mission such as this had been relatively easy; the techs back at the carrier had installed the complex sensors, recorders, and computers here in one storage room, and then modified the tiny cargo transfer bay so they could store, repair, and launch the _Farscape_ module.

The coms on the wall crackled to life, and Officer Sun's voice sounded into the room. "Renaez, Saitek, prepare all sensors for a full exterior scan. We'll get a full survey of the hull before boarding."

"Aye, sir," both techs called back, jumping into action. John stepped back out of their way, letting the experts handle things.

The image on the screen grew and spun as the Marauder slowly circled the _Zelbinion,_ first one way and then another. John whistled under his breath at the severity and extent of the destruction. The ship had essentially been gutted from beneath, and thousands of pieces of debris still spun lazily in slow orbit of the battered behemoth.

After several hundred microts of cataloguing damage and decay, the view suddenly swerved. "Hostiles detected, secure for combat," Sun announced on shipwide coms in a serious tone. "Esk and Fala, man weapons."

 

* * *

 

Up in command, Aeryn and her superior were focused, almost relieved to finally have a real threat to deal with. This was what a soldier was for.

"Sheyang vessel is priming its plasma conductor, preparing to fire," Officer Sun reported from her position at the helm. "Holding at fifty metras, outside our weapons' range. Estimate approximately a hundred microts before they can fire."

"Any communications?" Jelko asked.

"None, sir. They can see from our profile that we're no match for them, so why bother negotiating?"

"Options?"

There was a short pause; Aeryn wasn't used to being asked for an opinion. "We could shelter inside the Zelbinion, sir."

"Agreed," he nodded. Aeryn quickly set a least-time course to get into shelter behind the main body of the wreck. "Unfortunately," Jelko pointed out, "the _Zelbinion_ has no active defenses. Even those Sheyang cowards could destroy it right now. It may not be much protection."

"The Sheyang are scavengers, sir," Aeryn replied, thinking fast even as she spoke, "so they are unlikely to attempt to destroy the wreck to get to us. It would cost them too much valuable equipment they might otherwise be able to salvage. I think they will most likely send soldiers aboard to pursue us. In that case, we can fight them on more even terms."

"And in the mean time, we can have the techs attempt to get one of the _Zelbinion_ 's weapons systems operational again. With a carrier's frag cannon, even an old one, we could blast that frelling ship apart in one salvo." Jelko sounded bloodthirsty; he disliked retreating from any enemy, even when they outgunned him. Maybe especially when they outgunned him.

"Sir!" came the voice of one of the techs through the coms. "Enemy ship has fired, impact in seven microts!"

"Can we evadein time?" Jelko demanded, turning to his pilot.

"Possibly, sir. All hands, brace for acceleration!" Aeryn called out over the shipwide coms.

 

* * *

 

It had been a chaotic and terrifying ten minutes for John Crichton. The Sheyangs' first shot, though they'd avoided the full force of it, had sent a tremendous power surge through every console in the sensor bay, blowing out screens and starting small spot fires behind the panels. The impact had set the ship spinning and thrown them all to the deck; John found himself lying with Gilina sprawled on top of him. Under other circumstances, this might have been the opportunity he'd been waiting for...

But, things being as they were, he just let go and helped her to her feet the second Sun regained control and the ship stopped jostling them around.

John was kept busy putting out fires while the others scrambled to keep essential systems functioning. The Sheyang ship fired a second time, grazing their treblin side engines, before Officer Sun finally squeezed the Marauder through a small opening in the _Zelbinion_ 's secondary hangar doors. The hangar itself had long since been vented to space, but the Sheyang ship was too large to follow them, and the superstructure of the carrier's hull would protect them for a time while they regrouped.

Jelko assigned Tech Saitek to stay with the Marauder and attempt to repair the damaged engines and communications systems. Crewman Fala would stay with him, both to assist as necessary and provide protection against the Sheyang boarding parties that were sure to follow. Hopefully, the vacuum surrounding the Marauder would provide some protection, as well.

John and Gilina would accompany Jelko, Sun, and Esk into the heart of the _Zelbinion_. They would make their way to the ship's weapons rooms, hoping that one or more of the main cannons could be rendered operational by a tech and a half-trained alien, while the soldiers attempted to draw the Sheyang raiders into traps and ambushes.

Since the part of the ship they had landed in was a vacuum, they all had to suit up in the black PK spacesuits. It was only a minor annoyance, and in a way, they'd been supremely lucky; had the Sheyang arrived even an arn later, the Marauder would have been firmly docked to one of the exterior airlocks leading to a pressurized section, helpless and vulnerable. The Sheyang weapon would have incinerated it completely, leaving them trapped. Fortunately, the PK suits were a thousand times easier to put on and maneuver in than the old IASA monstrosities John had trained in. He thought it might be the single best improvement the PKs had made in their technological advancement.

It took the group half an arn to climb through the debris and shattered superstructure to find an airlock leading to a still-pressurized portion of the derelict ship. Once they assured themselves that the air was still breathable, the suits were removed and tucked away in a nearby storage container for use on their return.

John had spent the last half-cycle aboard a ship very much like what this one had once been. He'd considered Crais' carrier dark and depressing, the décor Spartan, the corridors claustrophobic, and the whole ambience reminiscent of an old Soviet gulag. But the _Zelbinion_ almost made him homesick for that home away from home. After a century of drifting dead in space, the passageways were dark and, strangely, often wet from water trickling down through the conduits from above. Dozens of bodies, long since decomposed, lay scattered about. The only illumination came from the lights mounted on the soldiers' rifles, and from a couple of hand-held flashlights carried by the techs. The constantly moving shadows made the journey that much spookier.

"Where'd all this water come from?" John whispered to Gilina.

Gilina glanced nervously at the soldiers leading them, then leaned over towards John. "Some of the planetary terrain reconstructions may have lost structural containment during the last battle, or in the cycles since. Uncontained, the water would seep out into the conduits and pervade the entire ship. When it reaches the lowest decks, the heat from the old partanium power core probably evaporates it into the atmosphere, and the water in the air condenses on the cold surfaces of the inner hull on every deck. The evaporation/condensation cycle explains the constant dripping."

John really wasn't listening to most of the explanation, distracted by two simple words Gilina had spoken in passing. "Planetary terrain? Wait a minute, are you telling me this ship had places that weren't all metal walls and red paint?" John was suddenly envious of this long-dead crew, to have been so blessed.

"Of course; all Peacekeeper carriers have them. Ours has about forty such terrains all through the ship, and the _Zelbinion_ had more than that. The plants convert carbon dioxide into oxygen, and the reservoirs are rich with microscopic life forms that help purify the water we use for drinking and bathing. The soldiers use the terrains for ground combat training, too, and some people go there in their off duty time to relax and gossip."

"What? Well, damn!" John cursed, a bit too loudly. Jelko turned and shushed him, his expression annoyed. Well, more annoyed than usual, anyway. John lowered his voice back to a whisper, but with no less force. "I sure as hell wish someone had bothered to mention that little feature to me before; I'd have given my right arm some days to see a tree, smell a flower, lie on the grass-or whatever you guys use. I miss the color green. Promise me, when we get out of here, first thing you do when we get back is show me to the nearest terrain. Okay?"

"All right, John," Gilina agreed, without much enthusiasm.

They moved on through what seemed like miles of dank, creepy hallways, John and Gilina doing their best to stay quiet while the commandos leading them moved with effortless stealth, checking every junction they passed for hidden dangers, and communicating with each other in silent hand signs.

John found himself watching Aeryn Sun. The intricate dance of muscles and grace. When he'd first met her, she'd been a captured prisoner, and nearly as disoriented by the situation they were caught up in as he was. Now, though, she was in her element, and he was seeing her in her full, confident, self-assured glory.

In spite of the tension of the situation-or perhaps because of it-John felt his body respond. He allowed himself a rueful smirk. Trapped in the dark with two beautiful women, and there was nothing to be done with either of them. Gilina was pretty, and smart, and just as insatiably curious about the universe as he was. She was everything he'd ever found attractive in a woman, but after all these months of trying, he had pretty much given up hope that she'd ever see him as anything but a comrade, possibly a friend.

And Aeryn? Beauty with a spice of deadly danger, passions held constrained by duty and regulations. Smart, too-he'd caught glimpses of her mind at work-but her job, this structured, restrictive life she led, sadly stifled that aspect of her potential. She was a tiger in a cage, but John was no Siegfried and Roy. The woman embodied the concept of 'look but don't touch.' And don't let her catch you looking, either. _Forget it, Johnny boy,_ his brain tried to tell the rest of him, _PK Commando Bitch is definitely not your type._ Some parts, however, were reluctant to listen to reason.

Their first destination was the highest tier of the ship, where the dorsal guns were located. The partial scans they had completed of the exterior showed that the rear and lower parts of the ship were the most seriously damaged, with weapons either gone or obviously ruined. Fortunately, the Sheyang ship had been holding position several metras in front of and slightly above the bow of the carrier. Either the dorsal or forward cannons, if they were intact, stood a chance of hitting it.

When they reached the dorsal battery, however, they found...nothing. Some time during the past hundred cycles, scavengers had stripped the ship. Probably several times. The components of the frag cannons themselves, not to mention the support systems in the adjacent service bay and the large quantities of chakan oil from the ammunition tanks, were valuable prizes. The huge guns had been stripped down almost to their metal skeletons, and the tanks were dry.

No one said a word; they moved on, heading forward and further away from the landing bays. The hope, John assumed, was that given their greater distance from the points of entry, the forward sections might be less thoroughly pillaged.

The forward gun battery contained a total of four triple-barreled cannons, each in a self-contained and well-armored housing. The cannons were each fully eighty feet in diameter and stretched the length of a football field. They were all showing signs of visitations by scavengers, with major components ripped out and pieces scattered willy-nilly across the floor space around them. It was obvious, even to John's unschooled eyes, that parts were missing.

Gilina made a swift survey of each gun, climbing through the maintenance tunnels and over the whole outside perimeter. Cannon number four, to the far hammond side, was the one she determined was their best shot. While it had been almost completely disassembled by careless foragers, it was actually missing the fewest essential parts.

The reason for that, once it was discovered, was obvious. Each gun bay had a large cargo hatch overhead, leading up to the service deck where the firing controls and chakan oil tanks were stored. Large pieces of equipment could once have been lowered into each bay via an arrangement of lifts and cranes. In the case of the fourth gun, however, that access port was jammed shut by debris. The armored chamber was accessible only through a maintenance hatch connecting to the third battery and some tunnels underneath which couldn't be opened from the outside. Only the smaller bits of equipment that the scavengers had been able to carry out through the small hatches had been taken.

Gilina claimed she could find or jerry-rig substitutes for all of the essential missing pieces. With luck, she said, she could get this one weapon rebuilt and functional in about ten arns.

"But, sir," she pointed out, "there are two problems I'll need to use the Marauder to fix. The targeting circuits are missing from every cannon I've examined; they're small and highly valuable. I can get the cannon ready to fire, but I will need to salvage the Marauder's navigation console and tie those circuits into here in order to aim it. Also, the chakan oil tanks are all but empty. To use the cannon, we will need to drain every weapons system on the Marauder and feed all of the oil into here. And even that will give you, at most, one or two shots. I'm not sure how powerful those shots will be, either."

"If we do this right, one shot is all we'll need, and even a weak volley from a carrier's frag cannon should blow that ship out of the sky. Permission granted to use whatever you require from the Marauder-she's of no use to us until we deal with the Sheyang. Get to work. Crewman Esk, stay with the techs, assist as required. Since you're armed, you'll be the one to go get whatever they require from the Marauder and elsewhere. Sun and I will position ourselves in the service bay to intercept any Sheyang who might try to interfere, so you won't be able to get out that way. Use escape hatches under the cannon to access other parts of the ship. Since you can't open those ports from the outside, just use the standard knock code and the techs will let you back in."

Esk looked ready to explode in protest at what he likely viewed as a thoroughly degrading assignment, but years of training and indoctrination won out over his resentment, and he kept silent.

 

* * *

 

Officers Sun and Jelko climbed up into the service deck through the third cannon's hatch. Aeryn looked around, assessing the tactical potential for defending this position while the techs labored to reconstruct a century-old weapon. The chamber was immense, as wide as all four gun bays beneath it put together, and a hundred motras deep. Three decks in height, the chamber was densely webbed with conduits, pipes, and suspended equipment. Everything was badly corroded by the constant drip of water. The large ammunition storage tanks that had once contained chakan oil were crowded against the back wall, with gravity-feeds leading down into the firing chambers below. The area near the door, however, was open and mostly clear of debris, providing little cover. A number of catwalks, level risers, and walkways gave access to the upper levels.

"We'll establish our defensive positions up there," Jelko said, pointing to the highest catwalk . "Except for the hatches down to the gun bays, there's only the one entrance to the chamber, here at the floor level. Have you ever faced Sheyangs before, Sun?"

"No, sir, although we learned a little about them in training." Not a lot, though; as a rule, the scavengers kept themselves primarily to areas outside of Peacekeeper control. When faced with a Peacekeeper ship, Sheyangs were almost always outgunned and would retreat in haste; on this occasion, the Marauder had simply not been strong enough to intimidate them.

Jelko lectured as they climbed the ladders to the upper levels. "They may be frelling cowards in space, but one on one they can be a bit bolder. And with good reason; their species' ability to spit superheated gases at a target is a formidable weapon in close combat. Most of them don't carry hand weapons at all. They don't need to.

"Their maximum flame range is about ten motras, but it's a good idea to hit them from a greater distance than that if you can. That's part of the reason I've chosen that vantage point. A fully-charged Sheyang, with its flame nutrients undepleted, will explode violently when shot by a pulse weapon. The heat and blast force can melt metal and destroy nearby equipment; no need to explain what would happen to an unprotected Sebacean that was too close.

"If the creature has flamed a great deal recently, then the explosion will be significantly smaller, though still dangerous. Best not to shoot it at all if you are closer than ten or fifteen motras."

"That's what we were told in training, sir." Aeryn wondered if he was testing her, or simply thought she was that ignorant.

"Good to know you were paying attention, Sun. What your teachers may not have mentioned is that these frellniks can't flame upwards very well. It reduces their range by at least half when they try to bend that way. So as long as we stay at a higher vantage point, they can't hurt us."

Sun smiled. He was right; they hadn't covered that detail. "Understood, sir."

Jelko paused and looked around the room. "We'll take positions on either side of the entrance, to create a cross-fire."

 

* * *

 

John and Gilina were crammed back-to-back in a narrow access shaft, attempting to replace burnt-out and corroded connections with new ones, scavenged from better preserved systems throughout the ship. They'd been at it for three arns already, working by hand-held lights in the pitch-dark chamber, and had much of the primary cannon assembly rebuilt already. Now came the hard part, bypassing missing components or replacing them with similar equipment and hoping the match would be close enough.

Esk had already brought part of the navigation system from the Marauder, which Saitek had carefully dismantled for him into portable sections. He had set out after the next piece a while ago, and ought to be back any microt. The chakan oil would be the hard part, as he'd have to cart it through the corridors in small containers, requiring many trips.

Gilina strained to reach into a tight space, then decided it would be more effective to remove the entire component from its housing to work on it. She tugged, but it was wedged in tight. "John?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"Can you help me with this? I need to remove the control node, and it's stuck. Can you brace this while I pull?"

"Sure," he said, turning, careful not to hit her with his elbows. He placed one hand on either side of the component Gilina wanted and said, "Okay, go."

She pulled, and for a couple of microts it seemed they might have to find another way. Then, suddenly, the node popped free. With the unexpected loss of support, she collapsed back into John's arms. He caught her, and for a moment they stood still, neither knowing what to say or do.

John was torn between pleasure and embarrassment. He knew Gilina couldn't help but feel how her presence in these close quarters had affected him, and wasn't sure what she'd do about it. She might ignore it, as she had all of his previous, less-blatant indications of interest. She might ask him in all innocence what it meant; after all, John really had no idea if Sebaceans and humans were as similar under their clothes as they looked at first glance. For all he knew, they might reproduce by fission. He just hoped Gilina wouldn't get upset by it.

She was frozen for a moment, clutched in his arms. Then, as if coming to a decision, she turned slowly, looked John in the eye, then reached up and kissed him deeply.

John's eyes widened, and he almost flinched away. When she finally came up for air, he said, "Gilina? What was that for?"

Gilina looked confused and lowered her eyes. "I thought...you'd like it. Thought you wanted it."

"I did! I mean, I do. I've wanted to do that ever since I met you, but I didn't think you were interested."

"I couldn't...not before, not with everyone around watching all the time. I couldn't let anyone know how I... It's one of our strongest taboos. I ..." She trailed off, lowering her eyes.

"What's wrong, Gilina?"

"You're not Sebacean."

"Oh." Comprehension dawned. Peacekeepers in general were a supremely racist group; he'd experienced that first-hand. Stood to reason they'd have miscegenation laws. It simply hadn't occurred to him before. "So," he said, smiling to soften the question, "why now?"

"I wanted to. I wanted you to know, in case...in case this doesn't work and we die here."

He put a hand to her cheek. "We're not going to die, Gilina."

"John, how long has Esk been gone?"

He paused, confused by the apparent change of topic. "I dunno, maybe ... half an arn?"

"More like three quarters. It shouldn't have taken half that long to get to the Marauder. He's not coming back, John. And we can't finish this without his help." With that, she reached back up and kissed him again. Part of John's brain was busy trying to come up with an argument to counter Gilina's pessimism. The rest was telling that annoying part to shut up and enjoy the ride.

 

* * *

 

Aeryn Sun stood, as she had for the past three arns, leaning against the damp and rusted railing that lined the upper catwalk, keeping her rifle pointed squarely at the entryway far below. Senior Officer Jelko was stationed at the opposite end of the walkway. It was a good tactical position; each of them possessed good cover from a vertical metal support pylon, with a wall at their backs, the only entrance directly in front of them, and no cover for those who might attempt to enter within twenty motras of the door.

 _One could almost wish,_ she found herself thinking, _that these creatures were more worthy adversaries._ Where was the challenge, after all, in facing opponents so incompetent that it took them over two arns to even find the Peacekeepers they sought? And that first one, striding into the chamber below without even checking his surroundings, had simply exploded with volcanic force when she and Jelko fired at him simultaneously. There was little or nothing left of the body, except some smoldering fragments scattered across the floor.

Since then, the Sheyang soldiers had been more cautious. She'd seen them looking in from the corridor, though how well they could see with those tiny, pathetic excuses for eyes, she had no idea.

Jelko expected them to attempt to storm the chamber en masse; he'd told her to be ready. Peacekeeper intelligence reports estimated that the standard Sheyang vessel carried anywhere from one to two hundred soldiers, each with an agile single-man boarding capsule. With numbers like that, they might feel confident enough to take on the entrenched Peacekeepers. But all they were doing was looking in every few dozen microts.

She recalled complaining to her commanding officer early in the mission about the tedium and ignominy of herding a passel of techs around, when she'd transferred to Marauders looking for action. What was it she'd overheard the human say? 'Be careful what you wish for'?

Now, where had that thought come from? She was glad for this, wasn't she? She was a Peacekeeper, a Commando. Facing an enemy and doing battle with it was her highest duty. Victory was success, fulfillment of the purpose for which she had been bred and raised.

Why the frell weren't these hezmots _doing_ something? Were they just going to sit down there and stare her to death? She was sorely tempted to take a shot at one of their observers just to break the tedium, in spite of Jelko's strict order to conserve ammunition.

Perhaps this strange, uncomfortable feeling was just due to the novelty of the situation. Aeryn had been in battle before, many times, but always before she had been at the helm of her Prowler. Ground fighting was something she'd experienced a great deal in training, but never before in a real situation.

That must be it, she decided. All this sitting around and waiting must be making her nostalgic for the speed and excitement of space combat.

It was odd, she thought distractedly, that in this one respect she might have more in common with their alien 'scientist' than with her fellow soldier and commanding officer. The human was a pilot, with a love for flying that equaled her own. She'd heard it in his voice, back at Dam-Ba-Da when he was demonstrating his 'sling-shot' technique. A strange, unnatural combination-tech and pilot. Her mind could barely wrap itself around the concept.

Another brief view of a Sheyang soldier, glancing around the edge of the door. Her finger tightened on the trigger, preparing to shoot if this was prelude to an invasion, but the figure just disappeared again. Aeryn sighed in frustration and wiped a bead of sweat off her forehead.

She recalled the human's blatant exhilaration at his first success, not with wormholes, but with the maneuver itself. She'd been pretty impressed herself, though she'd been careful not to let it show. For such a tiny, primitive vessel to achieve such astounding acceleration-she'd had visions of Prowler squadrons racing across space at high velocities, outrunning pursuers or pursued. Jelko had dismissed its usefulness out of hand, probably unwilling to consider that anything an _alien_ had developed might have any worth. But then, Jelko wasn't a pilot.

If there was one thing she almost regretted about her recent transfer, it would be loss of that feeling of freedom and excitement that she used to have flying her Prowler. Piloting a Marauder was just not the same. You mostly flew them in a direct course, from origin to destination, and you always had a senior officer looking over your shoulder. She thought Crichton would probably understand if she tried to tell him about that.

Her thoughts on the alien male brought her to wonder how much progress he and the tech were making on the frag cannon. Renaez had said ten arns...which might mean eight, or twelve, or might simply be her refusal to admit that it couldn't be done at all. Aeryn had endured enough Prowler repairs and overhauls to know what tech estimates were like.

The Sheyang observers down below were showing signs of tension, their brief appearances at the edges of the entryway getting both more frequent and more furtive. She wiped more sweat away, noticing consciously for the first time how warm it was getting. Why was it getting hotter?

Aeryn felt her guts clench, the subtle feeling of nervousness suddenly flaring into full-blown anxiety. What would _she_ be doing were she in a situation like the one the Sheyangs faced-enemies cornered in a room, with the single entrance guarded by troops with the advantage of position?

When the answer flashed across her awareness, she turned to call out to her commanding officer. Before she could speak a word, however, the back wall, between her and Jelko, exploded inwards with a shower of flame and molten metal.

Of course. She'd be looking to find-or create-another way in, to ambush an unguarded flank. She'd known. Deep down, she'd been worried that they were ignoring something important, but had let Jelko's confidence in his own tactics lull her into complacency.

Almost before the lastshards of flaming debris hit the floor, Sheyang soldiers rushed through the opening they'd created. The ingrained reflexes built by decades of Peacekeeper training took over, leaving Aeryn's mind almost a detached observer of the chaos that followed. She and Jelko turned to face the invaders who poured onto the walkway between their positions. She could see her senior officer, through the crush of bodies and smoke, firing his rifle again and again. Her own rifle was spitting pulse fire just as fast, though she was being careful not to hit Jelko with any wild shots.

The first soldiers through the door fell quickly, with very little explosive backlash since their nutrient reserves were all but gone. By the end of the first wave, the smoke from the explosion and the dead soldiers was hanging thick around the breach, concealing the opening, and obscuring Aeryn's view of Jelko. There was a pause, then several jets of flame shot out from the smoke. Since the Sheyangs hadn't been able to see their targets either, Aeryn only had to duck to the side to avoid getting scorched. But just as she was rolling to her knees again, two Sheyangs burst out of the haze and charged her.

Since she could no longer see Jelko, Aeryn knew she needed to shoot carefully and not miss her targets. She waited a microt for the two soldiers to get clear of the smoke, then shot the one in the lead squarely in the center of the chest.

She'd expected him to fall quietly, as those before him had, but this soldier had not done much of the work of burning through the wall. Most of his nutrient stores were still present, and the blast of those combustible fuels released and ignited all at once knocked Aeryn backwards for several motras until she skidded to a stop on her back. The rush of heat left her feeling dizzy. Even the Sheyang's companion was dazed by the explosion, having landed square on his eema, and was just blinking stupidly, neither advancing nor retreating.

The headless body of the dead alien wavered on its feet for a moment, then toppled over the railing, falling onto the ammunition tanks on the floor below. Thanks to the century of corrosion, the empty tanks were greatly weakened and collapsed under the impact. The vapors and residue of chakan oil in the tanks met the still-smoldering body of the Sheyang, with predictable results.

As the body disappeared over the edge, Aeryn struggled to her feet, preparing to kill the remaining alien before he recovered and attacked again. But just as she was bringing her rifle to bear, there was a crash from below, and then a tremendous roar of noise, a flash, a wave of heat and light. The floor dropped away from under her feet and she was flying over the railing, falling, falling...

 

* * *

 

The chamber containing the frag cannon was well insulated, so the first indication John and Gilina had of the battle being waged over their heads was the sharp jolt and muffled concussion from the last huge explosion.

The flames from the conflagration quickly traveled down the feeder lines into the cannon itself, and within microts of hearing and feeling the blast, they found themselves dodging gouts of flame as valves and relays blew out in sequence all through the weapon's superstructure.

"What the frell was that?" John demanded when he finally caught his breath.

Gilina seemed a little stunned; John supposed it wasn't often that a machine she was repairing tried to incinerate her without warning. "The feed lines," she muttered, looking around at the damage pattern. "Something ignited the chakan oil residue."

"That was a big explosion somewhere, Gilina. Could it have been the tanks up on the service deck? Where Sun and Jelko are?"

"I suppose-"

"Damn, we gotta go help them. They could be hurt." John was already halfway out of the crawlspace they'd been working in by the time he finished the last sentence, his flashlight beam weaving wildly in front of him.

"John, no!" Gilina cried. He didn't stop, and continued to ignore her as she called after him. "John, they ordered us to stay here!"

He ran headlong for the door leading to the adjacent bay, and was halfway up the stairway, heading for the access door to the service bay, before his brain caught up with his instincts. Gilina was right, to a point. He'd catch ten kinds of hell if he was wrong and burst in on a gunfight without orders.

But, unlike his dad, John had never been much of one for strict military discipline or taking pointless orders. Based on what he'd heard of that explosion and seen of the secondary effects, it had to be serious. The PKs might really need help, and he wasn't going to let something as trivial as a mere direct order stop him.

On reaching the access port, John reached out and touched it gingerly, recalling old childhood lessons about not opening doors that were hot. The surface was faintly warm, but not dangerously so. He hoped.

The door swung up and opened easily, a well-balanced mechanism, so far uncompromised by time or corrosion. He stuck his head carefully up to peek into the service bay.

"Holy shit," he breathed, horrified. The picture before him was eerily reminiscent of a building in Oklahoma City he'd seen on the news a few years back. It was like a giant alligator had taken a bite out of the room, leaving bits of metal and wiring hanging loose and sparking erratically on all sides. The tanks on the floor were indeed burning vigorously, many of them having blown themselves to bits and ignited their neighbors. The fire was spreading. Smoke billowed upwards, casting a pall over the scene, and it was already thick enough to make him cough, even at floor level.

It took a moment for John to locate the officers he'd come looking for. Jelko was lying on the mesh floor of the highest catwalk, two levels above him. He was apparently unconscious, and lying almost directly over the worst of the fire.

Aeryn was harder to find, but John finally spotted her sprawled awkwardly on the floor halfway across the deck. She looked like she'd fallen, and landed badly on a pile of debris. Her face was obscured by blood and hair, but John could see her fighting for breath in the thickening smoke, so he knew she was still alive.

Within microts, John had rushed across the deck and pulled the woman into his arms. He dragged her back to the hatchway and down to the first landing of the stairwell. Gilina was there, having followed him against her better judgement, and he asked her to look after Officer Sun while he went back for Jelko. Gilina had had some med tech training as a cadet, before she'd been steered into a maintenance specialty, so she knew basically what to do.

They could both feel the heat radiating down from the room above, and Gilina tried once again to object. "It's too hot, John! You'll never make it!"

Crichton just shook his head and climbed back towards the burning room. He'd only be in there a few minutes; he'd survive. _Just pretend you're Kurt Russell in_ Backdraft, he thought hysterically, wishing he had one of those fireproof coats and a big-brimmed hat to protect himself, instead of this lightweight, tech-issue jumpsuit.

The catwalk Jelko was on had been blown loose from its anchors at one end and was teetering precariously over the burning tanks. John bounded up the one remaining staircase that gave access to that level and raced across the maze of walkways, ducking through damaged and hanging wires, praying he wouldn't get a nasty shock from anything. Fortunately, the ship's old-style partanium power core was almost completely depleted after all these cycles, only providing a bare minimum of environmentals and gravity, and not much else.

Well, Gilina had been right about one thing: it was frelling hot up here, with the waves of heat and smoke rising from the inferno below. The railings and supports were scalding, too hot to hold onto. Jelko was probably going to have some nasty burns from lying on the metal grating. Moving with great care, so as not to jostle anything loose, John eased across the walkway to the man's unconscious form. A quick check confirmed that he had a pulse and was still breathing, though he did appear to be suffering from some kind of constant, small seizures. Perhaps he'd hit his head. Shrugging mentally, John heaved the soldier into a fireman's carry and headed back down.

By the time John staggered down the stairs with the increasingly heavy body of Officer Jelko, Aeryn Sun was coughing and hacking her way into a semblance of consciousness. The fall had left her with a number of visible injuries, cuts and bruises forming all over. She was greatly disoriented and confused at first, seemingly unable to track a train of thought to the end of a sentence when Gilina asked her questions. Combined with the nasty cut on her scalp, John decided she must have a severe concussion, and hoped it wasn't anything worse.

John couldn't find any obvious wounds or marks on Jelko that would explain his unresponsiveness or the constant twitches and shudders that wracked his extremities. Gilina moved across from where she'd been assisting Officer Sun and examined him. She peeled back his eyelids for a moment, shining her own hand-held light into them, then sat back on her heels and sighed.

Sun reached an arm over to touch her and seemed to pose a question with her eyes. Instead of responding, however, the blonde tech turned to Crichton. "Could you go back up and close the hatch, John?" she asked. "The heat is getting uncomfortable, and isn't good for any of us."

John paused, nonplussed, but nodded and headed up the stairs to do as she asked.

Just as he was pulling the door closed, however, the report of a pulse pistol sounded from behind and below him. Whirling around, he saw Aeryn Sun, still lying prone on the landing below, holding her gun in a trembling, outstretched hand. It was pointed at her commanding officer, who was now quite obviously dead. Gilina was still kneeling between them, her head bowed as if in prayer.

"What the hell did you do?" John cried, horrified. He rushed down the stairs two at a time and snatched the pistol out of Aeryn's hand. She was still weak and let go far too easily. "What was that, Aeryn, a standard Peacekeeper promotion? Trying to rise through the ranks?" His voice dripped with anger and scorn. To kill a man while he was lying helpless and unconscious... he'd thought she had more honor than that. And why hadn't Gilina tried to stop her?

The dark-haired woman just looked up at him with an expression of combined sadness and confusion. "No," she murmured, almost too quietly to be heard. "M-mercy..." Her voice trailed away to nothing as she lost consciousness again.

Crichton snorted derisively. "Mercy, my ass," he muttered, shaking his head in disgust. He hadn't liked Jelko much, but no one deserved this.

"John," Gilina said quietly, raising her head at last, "she was right, and she had no choice. There was nothing else we could do. It was the Living Death."

"Living what? What the hell does that mean? He got knocked out, maybe slightly charbroiled, but otherwise he looked fine!"

"It was the heat, John. Heat delirium, irreversible. Aeryn's got a mild case, but she'll recover. Since you were able to go into that inferno twice and show no signs, I'm assuming Humans don't suffer from it."

John shook his head, confused. "The heat did something to them?"

"We Sebaceans can't handle high temperatures. The original Sebacean homeworld was extremely temperate, with an almost perfectly circular orbit around its star and only one degree of polar tilt. It had no seasons, and little variation in weather or temperature. No point on the planet was ever measured a temperature above optimum plus five in all of recorded history, so the species that evolved there never needed to develop any of the heat tolerances that races from most other worlds have."

"You're telling me that you-all of you-you're cold blooded?" They looked so human that he sometimes expected them to be the same in every other way. It was a shock to realize that there were such fundamental differences.

"No, we maintain a higher-than-ambient body temperature, as you do, and we can function in colder environments as well as any other race. Better than some; the Scarrans _hate_ the cold. We simply can't handle our cells overheating. Heat delirium symptoms start appearing at approximately optimum plus eight, and progress gradually from short term memory loss through loss of motor coordination, and finally to long term memory. At higher temperatures, like near that fire, the condition progresses faster, and if the body isn't cooled in time, it reaches a stage we call the Living Death. Even if you cool the body completely after that, it never recovers, and will live on indefinitely in that state-paralyzed, brain-damaged, and in constant pain."

"So you kill them, to put them out of their misery?"

"It's the only thing we can do; there's no treatment, and no cure. None of us wants to live like that, knowing we'll never recover. Officer Sun overcame her own injuries and heat delirium to give Senior Officer Jelko his final peace, because it was her duty. He would have thanked her for it, had he been able."

John sat down on the stairs and cradled his head between his fists, remembering the hurtful accusations he'd spouted in his ignorance. "Guess I owe Aeryn an apology when she wakes up, don't I?"

Gilina, kindly, said nothing.

John dragged Jelko's body down the stairs to the floor of the weapons bay and covered it with a tarpaulin he found in an old supply crate, then came back to sit with Gilina while she tended to their remaining injured soldier. They stayed where they were. With the fire blocking access from above, they were in just about the most secure part of the ship, and there really wasn't anything two techs, with one pulse pistol between them- which neither of them knew how to use with any skill-could do against the Sheyang scavengers overrunning the ship.

Officer Sun faded in and out of consciousness. John had been partly right; her confusion was due as much to a head injury as to the moderate heat delirium, and did not improve much even when her temperature stabilized.

He was growing more worried about her as time went on, though not for that reason. During her conscious periods, Aeryn had demonstrated ability to move her head and arms, assuring Gilina that no bones were broken. Her legs, however, never moved. John remembered how he'd found her, sprawled across an uneven surface after an apparent fall from a higher point. A spinal injury was a real possibility, and there was a good chance he'd made it worse by moving her.

It had been a life-or-death situation, and leaving her where she was had not been an option. He knew that. The fire had been spreading, and there would be no ambulance with flashing red lights and competent paramedics rushing to the scene. She'd have died if he hadn't moved her, but that didn't diminish the guilt he'd feel if it turned out she was paralyzed because of him.

Finally, John simply couldn't sit still any longer. "Gilina, I'm going to go see if the Sheyangs are still lurking around out there. Maybe I can find Esk, or Fala and Saitek. "

"John, no, it's too dangerous," Gilina pleaded.

"I'll keep my head down. I can't just sit here, and we'll need a way off this boat at some point. But we need to know if the bad guys are going to be coming after us, or if they're just gonna take what they want and leave."

Gilina relented with a sigh, then tried to hand John Officer Sun's pulse pistol. He waved it off, shaking his head. "Keep it; you might want it. And Ms. PK over here would probably kill me bare-handed if she found out I'd taken her gun."

"Then take Officer Jelko's, John. He certainly doesn't need it anymore."

John finally nodded, reluctantly. Jelko's pistol had still been securely fastened in its holster, though both his and Sun's rifles had been left behind in the service bay. Carrying a weapon wasn't something John had ever done before, not really. He didn't want to start, even now, but Gilina was right that it might come in handy. Better to have it and not need it, he rationalized, than to need it and not have it.

After arranging to have Gilina come check for his return every arn, since he wouldn't be able to open the escape hatch from the outside, John crawled out into the dank, cramped tunnels in search of trouble.

Surprisingly, it took him a while to find it. The carrier was a huge ship, and even a hundred Sheyangs could have wandered the endless corridors without him ever meeting up with one. He kept to the ducts and hidden passageways, and finally stumbled on a group of the ugly creatures who were busy ripping apart some consoles John didn't recognize. They didn't talk much among themselves, but after a few minutes one of them stepped aside to answer a hail from their ship.

"Lomus," called a deep, slow voice through the coms, "are you certain the vessel is secure?"

"Yes, Teurac. The Peacekeeper Marauders carry crews of five. We killed two on their ship, one in the corridors, and the other two burned up in the weapons bay. The vessel is ours. There is not much of value left, but we have gleaned what we can."

John almost swore aloud, but managed to bite his tongue. If the bastard was telling the truth, then he and Gilina and Aeryn were all that were left of the original seven members of the expedition. It was fortunate that the Sheyangs didn't know they'd had a higher-than-normal crew complement for the scientific foray.

The voice on the coms returned. "Gather your unit and return to the ship, Lomus. Our holds are at capacity. We will return later for the rest, including the Marauder. That alone will fetch a fine price."

"Agreed. We will return within the arn."

John slipped back into the shadows and began retracing his steps to the weapons bay where he'd left the others. They had work to do.


	5. Outside the Box

_"Are you with me...or them?" - Aeryn Sun_

 

The stars outside the forward window didn't seem to move at all, no matter how long he stared at them. Hetch two sounded pretty impressive when you converted it into miles per hour, but here and now, it was just a slow way to get nowhere. It would take months-monens, John reminded himself-to get back to Peacekeeper space at this speed.

But, considering this Marauder was being held together with spit and chewing gum, and they were all out of chewing gum, John supposed they were lucky to be making any headway at all.

They were also flying nearly blind. The navigational computer was trashed. It had been broken down into three sections for use in repairing one of the command carrier's weapons. One piece had still been aboard the Marauder, and they had recovered and reinstalled the one they'd left back in the frag cannon bay. The third piece, though, they had found on their trek back, still clutched in the arms of Crewman Esk. Weighed down as he'd been by the bulky equipment, Esk hadn't had a chance. Both he and the console were burnt almost beyond recognition, by the Sheyang invaders he'd stumbled across on his return trip.

Saitek and Fala, who had stayed behind in the Marauder to fix the battle damage, had fared no better. Saitek's charred body lay where he'd been working, in the engine room, but Fala had at least managed to put up a good fight. That fight, though, had unfortunately left the Marauder in ten times worse shape than it had been in when they landed.

The dozen blasted and mangled fighter pods littering the airless hangar around the Marauder showed Fala's heroic efforts to keep the invaders at bay with the ship's small cannons. At least one, however, had gotten through and locked onto the hull. When the intruder burst into the command chamber, Fala had apparently drawn his pistol and fired before the Sheyang could spit a single fireball.

Perhaps Fala hadn't listened well enough to his trainers, and hadn't known about Sheyangs and pulse fire. Or perhaps there simply hadn't been time to do anything but react. But whatever the reason, that shot had been Fala's last act, as the explosion blew both him and many systems there in command to pieces.

There was a rustle behind John and he turned to see Gilina trudging listlessly into the room. She looked worn and exhausted, close to physical collapse. Crossing the room to meet her, John took her into a firm embrace and led her to one of the few seats in the room.

"Sit," he ordered, smiling. "Relax for two microts, would you? The ship will probably hold together without you for that long."

Gilina smiled wanly at his attempts to cheer her up. When he handed her a packet of food cubes, she tore into them ravenously.

John watched with amusement as she inhaled the tasteless rations. The fact that they were making any progress at all, or even that they'd escaped the _Zelbinion_ before the Sheyangs returned, was due almost entirely to Gilina's skill and tireless efforts. John had once joked that she and her fellow techs could build a command carrier from the ground up, and she'd just about proven him right with this Marauder. She had taken a vessel with no navigation, damaged engines, and a control center that was all but destroyed in an explosion, cannibalized non-essential components-like the sensors from the wormhole experiments or the Farscape's hetch drive-and produced something that would fly again.

She'd remained just as busy since they escaped, keeping the jerry-rigged systems running when they threatened to fly apart at the seams. John wasn't sure she'd slept in days.

Well, truth to tell, neither had he, much. In addition to helping Gilina with repairs, his task, as the lone, able-bodied pilot among them, had been to learn to fly a Marauder, with no instructor and no manual. Sure, he'd been a test pilot, but this was taking things a bit far. He'd taken Gilina's engineer's-eye view of what each control did and tried to translate that into real flying.

They'd only run into the walls of the hangar bay twice.

Once they'd gotten out into open space, his technique was less of an issue. He set a course as best he could with their lobotomized navigational computer, then went aft to help Gilina most of the time. He was seriously considering suggesting that they shut everything down for a few arns to get some sleep, and keeping their fingers crossed that nothing blew up in the meantime.

Before he could offer the idea for debate, however, Gilina looked up and muttered around her mouthful of food cubes, "Officer Sun is awake."

His breath caught. He'd carried the wounded woman back to the Marauder on a makeshift stretcher, including fitting her unresponsive body back into her pressure suit for the last stretch across the evacuated sections. The Marauder's tiny, automated medical bay had fortunately been undamaged in the fracas, and had been working on her ever since, keeping her in a sedated, stasis-like condition to aid healing. But the readings on the scanners had confirmed John's worst fears: the injury to her spinal cord was beyond its ability to address.

"How is she?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"Physically, other than the paralysis, she's completely healed," Gilina replied, swallowing the last of her meal. "She made me tell her the prognosis. After that, she didn't say anything."

"Will the med techs on the carrier be able to repair the rest of the damage?"

"I doubt it, John. I only received basic medical training as a cadet, but I don't remember anything about being able to regenerate damaged spinal tissue. Maybe something could have been done if she'd been on the carrier when it happened, but the older the damage, the more likely it will be permanent."

"Damn. I figured with all your technology you folks would have something better. So what'll they do, assign her to some kind of non-combat duty?"

Gilina shook her head, her expression one of wistful sadness and pity. "If she were of high rank or had powerful connections, then maybe High Command would overlook the disability. But when line soldiers are permanently crippled or become too old to be effective...they're often killed, or discarded on some planet."

"Why the hell would they put up with that?" John demanded, appalled.

"It's accepted doctrine, John. When a soldier becomes a burden to her unit, it's better for the unit to be released of that burden."

"Damn it, there's all sorts of things Aeryn can still do! She doesn't have to be a burden to anyone!"

"They won't see it that way. And neither will Officer Sun."

The words sent a chill of dread up John's spine. With nerveless hands, he fumbled for another container of food cubes.

"I... I'm gonna go see if she's hungry," John stuttered, not waiting for a reply as he walked out to the corridor.

 

* * *

 

In the darkness of the cramped med chamber, with the familiar sounds of a lifetime of living on space ships surrounding her, Aeryn Sun existed in a bubble of self-imposed mental stillness. She had lost everything she'd ever aspired for: her career, her duty, even her chance to die gloriously in battle. That last, at least, should have been hers, but the privilege had been stolen from her, by chance and the misplaced charity of a lesser species refugee and an ignorant tech.

So focused was she on her own cocoon of misery that she didn't notice her visitor until he cleared his throat from the doorway. Her head snapped around at that and she glared daggers at the human interloper.

Crichton visibly recoiled at the look, but recovered enough to mutter, "Um...I brought...I thought you might be hungry, so I..." He held out a container of food cubes, like he was feeding an animal that might just decide to take his hand off instead.

Aeryn ignored the gesture, and the food, not moving a muscle. "Why did you bring me here?" she finally asked, her voice still slightly rough from disuse and smoke.

Now the human looked puzzled. "What do you mean? Where else would we have taken you?"

"You should have left me there. Expending effort on a dead or disabled soldier is a waste of valuable resources and endangers the mission."

Crichton's expression passed through confusion and ended at anger. "Don't you go quoting the Peacekeeper rule book at me, lady; I'm not one of you. And just at the moment, I've never been happier about that. You aren't dead. I'm sorry about your legs, and I wish I could fix them, but just because you got hurt doesn't mean you aren't still an important part of this crew. We need you. The three of us are all we have left. Now here, take some food cubes, you need to get your strength back."

Officer Sun turned away, ignoring both words and food. The man's sentimentality was sickening, a weakness that should have doomed his race to extinction millennia ago.

She was a warrior, destined-or so she'd believed-to die in battle, honorably. No matter what the human thought, by all rational Peacekeeper definitions, she _was_ already dead. Now it was just a matter of convincing these frelling idiots-and her obtuse, still-breathing corpse-of that reality.

 

* * *

 

Half a solar day later, John still hadn't managed to make a dent in Aeryn Sun's self-isolating Peacekeeper shell. She wouldn't let him help her.

"John," Gilina finally said, after watching John try yet again to cajole the injured soldier back to the land of the living, "I don't understand why you're so concerned about Officer Sun."

"Damn it, Gilina, she's a hum...she's a sentient person with as much right to live as you or I. She isn't helpless, or useless. On my world, a disability like this isn't a death sentence. Yes, being paralyzed or losing a limb is traumatic and painful, and I'm sorry as hell that I might be partly to blame for her condition. But I am not going to apologize for saving her life, and I'm not going to let her give up on herself just because the damn Peacekeepers think she's not worth keeping."

"But when we get back to the carrier, there will be no place for her as she is. She knows that, even if you don't," she argued.

John was silent, staring at the image of stars on the view screen, for a long moment. Finally, he said in a quiet voice, almost to himself, "Then maybe that's not where we should be going."

"W-w-what!?" Gilina gasped, stepping away from him as if he'd suggested a swim in vacuum without a suit.

John looked down at the console. He'd been thinking about this for a while, and had expected this kind of reaction. "'Lina," he said, looking up into her eyes, expression almost pleading, "I'm not a Peacekeeper. I wouldn't want to be. I've lived among you for half a cycle now, but I've never been welcome. And some of the things I've learned about the way you operate really creep me out sometimes.

"Don't get me wrong, though, I'm not sorry to have spent that time on the carrier. I would never have made it on my own, and I learned a lot while I was there. But most importantly, I got to meet you." John watched Gilina out of the corner of his eyes at that, wondering what reaction he might get. Their brief interlude on the _Zelbinion_ had been interrupted too quickly, and Gilina hadn't brought the subject up since. Admittedly, there hadn't been time for much of anything, but John had found himself wondering if the whole incident had been brought on by Gilina's fears and the stress of waiting. She'd spent her entire life in the safety and regimented existence of a command carrier, so she wasn't used to being in danger.

Once things started happening, though, Gilina had pulled her nerves together and done what was necessary. Perhaps, now that things had calmed, she'd come to her senses and decided her attraction to John had been nothing but hormones.

She showed no expression, so he went on. "I was never really working on wormholes for the Peacekeepers, Gilina, no matter what the captain or anyone else may have thought. I was doing it for me. The only thing I really want-have wanted since the beginning-is to go home. But it's looking like I may have to live out here for a while, and I'd rather do it someplace where I can have friends. That's what I miss most, I think: having people around me who understand, who I can talk to.

"I don't need the Peacekeepers anymore, Gilina; I've learned enough now to survive and study wormholes on my own. I don't want to go back, and Aeryn, as you pointed out, _can't_ go back."

The tech finally found her voice again. "But what about me, John? Peacekeepers is all I've ever known. You talk about being away from your home, but you're talking about taking me away from mine. How would I live?" She was hugging herself, not looking him in the eyes.

John chuckled, his eyes glowing with emotion. "Darlin'," he said, "with skills as good as yours, you could make it anywhere."

"And what if I don't _want_ to make it anywhere? What if I want to go back?"

"I'm not gonna force a decision on you," he assured her. "My people have a saying, though: 'Home is where the heart is'. I could be wrong, but I never got the feeling you had many friends back on the carrier. Is there anyone you'd really miss? You seemed to spend all your free time with me. Do you want to go back because you want to be there, or because you're afraid of what you'll find out here?"

Gilina stared at him, like the concept was foreign to her. "I suppose...Betal and I were in the same creche group, and we talked once in a while..." She trailed off, unable to think of anything else.

"Were you happy there?"

"I don't know."

John nodded. "Once we get Aeryn back on her feet-metaphorically speaking, if not literally-we can talk about what you want to do. Okay?"

She thought for a long moment, then nodded. "But John," she said quietly, "what if Officer Sun won't accept your help?"

He grimaced. "Damn, I wish we had one of those hover-sled things that green toad...critter...alien...whatever, had."

Gilina perked up a bit at that, intrigued. "Hover chair?"

"Yeah, when I first got here, half a cycle ago, Aeryn and I were being held captive on that escaped Leviathan. There was this little green guy, one of the prisoners-don't remember the name, but he farted helium, which I found really bizarre-anyway, he was zipping around all over the place in this levitating chair. Wish we had one in extra large for Aeryn. Be even better than a wheelchair."

"Oh, a Hynerian throne sled. I've heard of them."

As her voice trailed off, John looked at Gilina's face. He could see the gears turning behind her eyes. "You've got that look, baby. The one you get when you're about to demonstrate your superior Peacekeeper brilliance." He smirked. It was an old joke between them; she teased him about his primitive human perspective just as often. He was about to ask what she was pondering when they both heard a loud crash from down the passageway, followed by a string of frustrated profanity.

Gilina smiled mischievously at John's consternation. "I've got an idea. You go help Officer Sun, John. What I have in mind will take some doing, but if it works, it should solve her immediate problems."

"And you're not going to tell me, are you?"

"I want it to be a surprise. You'll understand when I'm done."

 

* * *

 

"Crichton, get the frell away from me and leave me alone!"

"Damn it, Aeryn, just let me help!"

"I don't want your help. I don't want your pity. I don't want any of your frelling sentimental dren!" What would it take to make this pathetic being go away? He was staying just out of range for a pantak jab.

Suddenly, the human's voice dropped from the yelling register they'd been using down to more normal conversation. "Y'know, I heard all the stories, 'bout the big, bad Peacekeepers and their glorious victories and how they ain't afraid of nuthin'." The inflection in his voice was odd, drawling and slow. "Who would'a figured you'd turn out to be such a chicken?"

Her fingers clenched into the mattress, with visions of digging the nails into a human throat. She didn't know what a 'cheekin' was, but knew it was not complimentary. "I should kill you for that!"

"Truth hurts, don't it, darlin'? You're so afraid of what might happen, it's easier to just curl up and die, that right? Just because some lousy rule somewhere says you should?"

"What the hezmana do you know about it, Crichton? Don't pretend to understand me."

"Oh, I think I might have a clue. See, my best friend, back on Earth? His uncle Greg, back when we were kids, came home from a war with both legs blown off above the knee. But, you see, unlike your Peacekeepers, the military he served in doesn't throw their soldiers away when they get hurt."

"Right. What do they have him doing now, serving drinks in the mess hall?"

"Oh, you think you're so frelling smart, don't you Ms. Sun? Just so happens that dear old Uncle Greg went back to school, courtesy of the U.S. Army, and became an engineer, just like his father, and his brother, and later his nephew. Last I heard, he was designing high-tech weapons and stealth systems for the military."

Aeryn was silent for a moment, thinking about that, but her ruminations were interrupted when the whole ship lurched suddenly sideways. There was a dizzying moment when the gravity wavered, and then it cut out completely, leaving them in free fall.

"John!" Gilina's voice broke in suddenly through the coms. "The whole inertial system just overloaded and blew out. We're spinning off course; get up to the helm and see if you can get us back under control."

"Right. I'll do what I can, Gilina, but I'm still pretty much fumbling my way around up there with guesswork and luck."

Aeryn snorted. "I could fly this ship better than you, human, even without my legs, and with one arm tied behind me."

"Probably, Aeryn," Crichton said off-handedly, "but unfortunately you're too much of a coward to get your ass out of that bed to prove it."

The response was immediate and swift. With just her arms, Aeryn launched herself off the bed and through the air, catching the offending human unprepared with a perfect Pantak jab. Crichton's unconscious form spun lazily across the room away from her, until his head slammed soundly into a wall and he rebounded much more slowly. Aeryn, however, was no longer watching. Taking advantage of the lack of gravity, which gave her back the mobility she'd lost, she was headed directly for the command deck and the helm to wrestle this Marauder back under control.

 

* * *

 

The cold cloth against his pounding head made John flinch, which of course just made his head hurt more. He groaned loudly.

"I'm sorry, John," Gilina said, still holding the cold cloth against the large lump on his head, "this wasn't part of the plan."

"Wish you'd warned me what you were doing," he griped half-heartedly.

"If you'd known, you wouldn't have been surprised, and it wouldn't have worked if Officer Sun had realized it was deliberate. With the ship in zero G, she'll be able to move around as well as before. That should help her morale, don't you think?"

"Yeah, yeah, you're right. She won't need our help to move around anymore, and her unwillingness to accept help was her biggest obstacle. How long was I out?"

"Less than half an arn. Everything's stabilized now; she got to the control center and got the ship back under control less than a hundred microts after I blew out the grav system."

"Yeah, she was moving pretty fast, I do remember that much. Probably shouldn't have pissed her off like that, but at the time I thought it was the only thing that would get her moving."

"Well, it worked. I don't think you have a concussion."

"I wish this ship weren't so small. I have a feeling I should stay out of Ms. Sun's way for a few days."

Gilina smiled wryly. "You're probably right, John. Just stay off the command deck; I got the impression she intended to be there for a while. I think she missed it."

"It'll be nice to have someone up there who knows what they're doing. And it will be even more nice to be able to spend more time with you, Gilina."

She smiled back at him, eyes bright.

 

* * *

 

Late in the ship's night, Aeryn slipped free of the tethers that kept her stationary and pushed herself up off her bunk. There was no way she was going to get any sleep for a while.

_I suppose they don't realize how small this ship really is, and how thin the internal bulkheads are,_ she mused, torn between amusement and annoyance. Her initial horror at the relationship between the human and the tech had faded, though she'd tried to maintain it. Recreation with an alien ought to disgust her, but it was hard to remember sometimes that Crichton was an alien. Besides, they were a long way from the command carrier's strict regulations; maybe she was just going soft.

Pulling on a shirt with practiced ease, Aeryn pulled herself out of her quarters and up to the helm. Might as well do something useful until they were finished.

Once in the command chamber, she arrested her trajectory with the expertise of much practice by grabbing the back of the pilot's chair. Once seated, she used the 'seat belt' Crichton had installed for her to secure herself, then glanced over the panels.

The Marauder was finally approaching a more populated area of space, and they would soon have to pick a course for a planet where they could negotiate for repairs and supplies. In the monen and a half since they'd left the wrecked carrier, Tech Renaez had cobbled together a better set of controls and a makeshift interface with what remained of the navigational computer. Aeryn pulled up what little information was available in the files. There wasn't much on this part of space-they didn't call it the Uncharted Territories for nothing-but there were a few references to non-hostile commerce planets and supply outposts. Some even carried notations of Peacekeeper influence, though that influence was likely to be covert.

The sensor panel by Aeryn's left elbow suddenly started chiming an alarm. Touching a couple of buttons, she brought up an image of the anomalous sensor readings that had set it off. After a moment spent staring at the picture in disbelief, she toggled the coms open.

"Crichton, Renaez, I hate to interrupt, but you'll want to come up to command. There's something here you need to see."

There were a couple of muffled-and faintly frustrated-acknowledgements before the signal was cut off again. A hundred microts later, her two shipmates floated through the door, still furtively adjusting clothing and trying to look innocent.

Before either of them could ask, Aeryn transferred the sensor image to the main screen. Almost instantly, she heard the human gasp.

"I am assuming that is what I think it is, correct?" Aeryn asked.

"That's a wormhole," Crichton breathed, voice hushed with awe.

The electric blue funnel shape dipped and spun on the screen, hanging in space less than a hundred metras from their treblin side. Aeryn continued. "I assumed you would both want to take the opportunity to observe this phenomenon, since you have expended so much time and effort studying them and trying to create one of your own."

Suddenly, the wormhole shifted and they all caught a brief glimpse of something inside. "Can you pull in on that image, Aeryn?" John asked, breathless with excitement.

She increased the magnification until they could all discern the image of a blue and white planet at the other end of the wormhole.

"Oh my God," Crichton said.

Aeryn looked up at him, surprised by the strong emotion in the human's voice.

"That's Earth. That's my home."

 

* * *

 

It took a few moments, but the dead silence in the room finally dragged John's attention away from the amazing, impossible view. Officer Sun was very pointedly not looking at him, but Gilina's gaze was full of sadness and loss.

In a flash, he realized that both women expected him to jump in his module this very minute and fly away, without a thought for them. He supposed that sort of self-absorbed opportunism was all they'd ever known or been raised to expect, but it was disappointing that Gilina, at least, didn't know him better than that.

"So," he said, ignoring their assumptions, "we have a decision to make."

"What decision?" Gilina asked. "That's your homeworld out there, John. It's what you've been searching for for the last half cycle. It's what you've been working for. You're going home."

"The decision is not about what _I_ am going to do, it's about what _we_ are going to do. I'm not going to just abandon you out here in the middle of nowhere." He looked squarely at Aeryn, finally catching her eye. "Either of you. In fact, I would like to extend an invitation to both of you."

"Are you seriously suggesting that we come with you to that primitive excuse for a planet?" Sun asked incredulously.

"Aeryn, think about it. You can't go back to the Peacekeepers, and you can't just fly around out here with the gravity shut off for the rest of your life."

"What do you mean-" Aeryn began in a dangerous tone.

"And Gilina," John said quickly, bulling his way past that unfortunate revelation, hoping Aeryn would write it off to a poor choice of words or a faulty translation. "I know you think you want to go back, but in Peacekeepers you're just one tech among thousands, and your extraordinary gifts are being wasted there. On Earth, you could be the one to lead a population of billions into a whole new era, to the stars and beyond. But even aside from that, I'd like you to come with me. For more...personal reasons."

Gilina looked panicked, torn in two by fear and desire. Aeryn spoke into the tense silence.

"Whether or not I can go back to the Peacekeepers is irrelevant, Crichton," she insisted. "What possible use could I be on your world? You've said your people have never made contact with alien life before. I'd be an object of curiosity, something for your people to gawk at, nothing more. And on a planet, I'd be stuck in one place again."

"Damn it, Aeryn," John exploded, "in case you don't remember, you thought I was Sebacean when we met. Did it ever occur to you that the reverse would be true? You and Gilina could walk down any street on Earth and never be thought anything but human. And on the other topic, like I tried to tell you before, you aren't helpless. There are millions of people on my planet who live happy, productive, _mobile_ lives without the use of their legs. Hell, one of the greatest leaders we had in the past century-a man who led his country for over a dozen years, through a worldwide economic crisis and a global war-was confined to a wheelchair!"

There was silence from the dark-haired woman.

"Look at it this way, then; what have you really got to lose?"

Aeryn shook her head emphatically. "I cannot abandon my duty. I am a soldier; it's what I was bred for, trained for-"

"Aeryn." John waited until she looked into his eyes, and then spoke with intense sincerity. "You can be more."

He stared at her, drilling the message into her until she finally looked away, and then turned his gaze to Gilina, wordlessly including her in that affirmation.

No one spoke for an interminable time. John saw the wormhole on the screen wavering a bit more and worried that it was losing stability, but didn't want to upset the others' decisions by mentioning it.

Finally, Aeryn turned away from John to look over her shoulder at the blonde tech. Their eyes met, and after a couple of microts of silent conversation, Gilina nodded. Without another word spoken, Aeryn threw the Marauder into a tight left turn and flew it straight into the mouth of the wormhole.

John grinned. _Watch out world! John Crichton's coming home!_

 

* * *

 

Aeryn lay on the hard, unpadded bench in the cell the humans had so kindly provided them. It was eerily reminiscent of her brief time on the escaped Leviathan over half a cycle ago, with a bunch of suspicious and downright hostile aliens staring at her from outside.

This time, however, it was Crichton who was the belligerent prisoner. He'd been understanding at first, assuring the two Sebaceans that this was the standard procedure. They'd wanted to confirm that he really was John Crichton. ("They've watched too much sci-fi," John had joked early on, "They think maybe I've been cloned, or I'm an evil robot, or something.") But now, after two days, many hundreds of questions, and a fair number of suggestions about medical exams that John refused vehemently, he was getting, in his own words, 'riled up'.

During the past monen on the Marauder, Aeryn had started learning to accept an cope with her injury. In the free-fall environment, the paralysis of her legs had not hindered her much at all. A tiny part of her had even begun pondering the idea of life away from the Peacekeepers. It had been that small voice inside her that had listened to the human's argument for coming to Earth and made the impulsive decision to change course.

But now, trapped once again by the force of gravity, unable to perform even the most basic necessities without assistance-which she accepted only reluctantly-the feelings of hopelessness and despair were taking over once again.

She didn't blame Crichton. He'd been absolutely correct that she'd had nothing to lose by coming here. But unfortunately, it seemed, she'd also had nothing to gain.

There was a commotion from the chamber outside the cell, and Aeryn turned her head to look. A white-haired man, obviously angry and with an air of command, was talking loudly to the lead interrogator. Inside the cell, John spotted the man at the same moment and ran for the glass wall, shouting, "Dad!"

The sound from outside cut out almost immediately as the man called Wilson ordered the intercom shut off. John yelled a few more times, pointlessly, then subsided. For a few moments, he simply watched the two men argue outside the cell, and then he turned to Aeryn and Gilina with a smirk. "This should be fun to watch. Getting between my dad and any one of his kids is not a smart move. Wilson's about to get his head handed to him...assuming someone can pull it out of his ass first."

Aeryn and Gilina looked at each other and shook their heads. One of the few things they had in common was their mutual, amused incomprehension of some of John's more colorful expressions.

Within microts, the silent battle outside the window was over, and the victor was obvious. Wilson, the paranoid and suspicious 'spook', was standing aside and looking cowed. John's father was entering the cell, the first human to do so since they'd been brought here two days ago.

John moved across the cell to meet him. There was some quiet conversation which Aeryn could only hear bits and pieces of, most of which didn't register with the translator microbes. "Annapolis...fishing...trout..."

Whatever the substance of the discussion, the two men were soon hugging each other and nearly in tears. She'd never seen so much emotion expressed so blatantly. She'd always been taught that emotion was weakness, emotion must be controlled.

John turned around once they broke apart and led his father over to Aeryn and Gilina. "Dad," he said, "there's a couple of people here I'd like you to meet."

The older man nodded at the two women, eyeing them cautiously.

"In the reclining position," John began, eyes twinkling as he gently teased her, "we have Officer Aeryn Sun."

Aeryn nodded, not saying anything since it wouldn't be understood anyway.

"And this," John continued, putting one arm gently around the other woman's shoulders, "is Gilina Renaez. Gilina, Aeryn, this is my father, Colonel Jack Crichton."

Jack's eyes lingered for a moment on his son's familiar gesture with the young blonde woman, and then he smiled kindly. "A pleasure, ladies," he said, bowing ever so slightly. "I apologize for the unpleasant treatment you've been receiving here; not all of us are as rude and unmannered as Wilson over there."

The man in question, listening intently from outside the cell, frowned unpleasantly.

"Dad?" John inquired, "Can we get someone to bring Aeryn a wheelchair? She was injured recently and her legs were paralyzed. We cut the gravity on the ship so she could move around-"

"Frelling slijnots," Aeryn muttered. "I should have known it wasn't an accident."

John continued, ignoring her gripe. "-but now that we're here, she needs to learn to get around on her own."

"It'll take some doing, son, but I think I can arrange something. We just have to convince Wilson and his cronies that you and your friends aren't any threat."

"The most dangerous one of us is Aeryn; just make sure nobody pisses her off, and everything will be fine." John grinned down at her, and she almost cracked a small smile herself. The bruise on Crichton's head from the pantak jab she'd applied-and the wall he'd hit a moment later-had almost completely faded, but enough remained to remind her that his observation was based on a grain of truth.

 

* * *

 

John laughed hysterically as Aeryn Sun popped her wheelchair into a wheelie. His dad had pulled a few strings and gotten DK's Uncle Greg to come show the paralyzed Sebacean that John hadn't been lying to her. Greg had assured her, quite seriously, that this maneuver was an advanced wheelchair technique, required for full mastery of the vehicle; she'd greatly impressed him when she managed to do it perfectly on her first try. Aeryn's initial reticence about her future was fading into something that might almost be called enthusiasm.

They'd finally been let out of the isolation cell, after almost two weeks. John and Gilina were now being kept busy giving the base engineers lessons in hetch drives and artificial gravity systems on the modified Farscape module and the wrecked Marauder. Aeryn had struggled with the crippled ship all the way down, but had only managed to achieve a controlled crash. When he could be spared from that, John was called into service to translate for Aeryn as she answered questions about space warfare, weapons, and tactics.

Some of the chief spooks, like Wilson and Cobb, were still looking at their guests like they were strange and dangerous lab animals, but John wasn't worried. After all, no one would actually try to dissect an alien who looked so human.

 

* * *

 

Using a credit card, John popped open the latch on the door and ushered Gilina inside, out of the rain. He locked the door behind them and then leaned his forehead against the wood surface, eyes closed. The past three hours had left no room for thinking, only action, but now they were safe, and he could no longer deny what he'd seen.

"John?" Gilina had to call his name three times before he could lift his head and look at her. "Can you explain what's going on now? Why did we leave the base? Where's Officer Sun?"

John turned his back to the door and sank down to the ground. "Aeryn's dead."

"Dead? What do you mean? What happened?"

"I should never have agreed to let them try the surgery. I should have known it was a ploy, that they couldn't actually repair her spinal cord. I just never thought they'd actually do it."

"Do what, John?"

"Their 'official' story is that she had a bad reaction to the anaesthetic. But when I got there, they were getting ready to do a real thorough 'autopsy'. They killed her, Gilina, and I should have seen it coming. That's why we had to leave; I was afraid they'd come after you next."

 

* * *

 

Aeryn opened her eyes and looked around. She was back in the isolation cell, and she was alone. Where were Crichton and Renaez? For that matter, where were the other humans? The whole building seemed strangely deserted all of a sudden.

Footsteps echoed in the empty room beyond the clear cell wall, and a single figure appeared outside, peering in at her. It was Crichton's father, Jack. She'd met him a number of times since they arrived, but hadn't spoken to him much.

"Colonel," she greeted him. "What's going on? Where is-" She stopped herself, realizing with a surge of annoyance that he wouldn't be able to understand her without his son there to translate.

"Have no fear, Aeryn Sun," the man spoke. "The test is almost concluded, and your role in it is already finished. Your companions will return to you soon, once John Crichton realizes what is happening."

Aeryn's brow furrowed. This did not sound like the Jack Crichton she's first met. This was some kind of test? "Then this is not Crichton's Earth?"

"No, it is a simulation, based on his memories."

"But it is accurate? This is what his planet is really like?"

"An approximation only. It lacks much of the complexity of his true home, aspects he either did not experience or only knew of indirectly. We could only create what he knew from personal experience. The people we simulated were essentially accurate, both the kindness and the cruelty, the welcome and the suspicion. Like most worlds, Crichton's is a study in contrasts."

"Who are you?" she asked suddenly.

"Our name would mean nothing to you. You may continue to call me Jack. I apologize for the inconvenience we have caused you, but I hope you will find our restitution adequate to repay."

"Restitution?" Aeryn asked, confused.

"The surgery you agreed to undergo was not merely a ruse for John Crichton's benefit. Our energy is limited, but our technology is advanced. Stand and walk, Aeryn Sun."

Until this moment, the surgery had been forgotten; she'd not held out much hope that the primitive human medical science could really fix anything. Over time, she'd grown to accept her new limitations and revel in the unexpected capabilities she still possessed.

She tried to do as Jack asked, believing, for some reason, in the alien's assertion that it was possible. For several moments, nothing happened, as her nervous system struggled to remember how to signal her legs to move. Then her right foot twitched, and her left knee straightened slightly, triggering a flush of emotion. Within just a few hundred microts, the connections were reactivated and she was standing up, though her legs were weak and her balance unsure.

"Your legs will regain their former strength quickly, Aeryn Sun," the human-alien-said with quiet satisfaction.

"Why...why did you do this for me?" she asked, sitting down once again. The muscles had lost all their endurance, having atrophied significantly over the past two monens of paralysis.

"It was in our power to help; how could we not?"

Aeryn had no response to that, but was saved from the awkwardness of silence by the sudden entrance of John Crichton through the far doors of the building.

"Who are you?!" he shouted, obviously enraged and only barely containing himself.

"You did well, John," the alien said, not looking over his shoulder at the approaching human. "Most species don't do as well."

"What is all this?" Crichton was getting closer, but hadn't spotted the figure sitting inside the cell yet.

"Everything here is a physical recreation from your memory."

"But, you're not real..."

"Well," the alien said, turning around at last. "I'm not your father."

"Crichton," Aeryn spoke at last, pulling the human's attention away from the man who both was and was not his father.

"Aeryn!" he cried, racing over and splaying his hands against the glass. "You're alive! They didn't kill you!"

Aeryn was taken aback by that. They'd made him think she was dead? Was that part of that 'test' they'd referred to? She couldn't find the words at that moment to tell him what had happened, so she did the only thing she could to explain. She stood up.

Crichton was dumbfounded. "You...you're..." he stuttered.

"Of course we didn't kill her. We created her corpse," Jack explained, sounding slightly put out.

"Why would you make me think she was dead?" John cried, turning towards the image of his father.

"We needed a human reaction, John. Your reaction."

 

* * *

 

Three arns later, the human, the soldier, and the tech were back aboard their Marauder. Part of the Ancients'-as John now termed them-restitution for their experiment had been to repair as many of the damaged systems on their ship as was possible with the materials on hand. The crash had been entirely simulated, so there was really no more damage than before, but much had been repaired anyway. It still wasn't 'like new', but Gilina wouldn't have to spend every waking microt babysitting the engines anymore.

The gravity was back on, as well, currently set at about half-strength to allow Aeryn to move about more easily. They would turn it up gradually as she regained her strength.

Aeryn watched silently as the human gazed out the forward view port. He'd said very little about what had transpired between him and the alien after they'd left the room.

"What is bothering you, Crichton?" she asked suddenly. The question surprised even her; where had that come from?

"Sorry, Aeryn," John said, glancing back at her. "I'm just trying to decide how to feel."

"I did not realize that was a conscious process for humans."

She could see him smile slightly and duck his head. "Usually it isn't. Part of me wants to be angry at them, for invading my mind, stealing my memories, playing games with my sense of reality. But then I look at you, and this ship, and I know they gave us much more than they took."

They were silent for a moment.

"So, how're you doing?" John asked, deflecting her attention away from himself.

Aeryn thought about it. The time they'd spent on 'Earth' had been both enlightening and confusing for her. Crichton had been right, annoyingly so, in his insistence that her injuries did not negate her usefulness. She'd been the Marauder's pilot for over a monen in free-fall, and even back in the gravity of a planet she'd learned to get around. There among the humans, for perhaps the first time, Aeryn had been more valued for her mind than for her physical prowess, and strangely enough, she'd found that immensely satisfying. And now, just when she had been learning to accept her new limitations, she was whole again, with options and decisions to make about her future.

But it wasn't just the Peacekeeper viewpoint on crippling injuries that Aeryn was questioning. Watching John interact with his father-simulation or no, to John it had been real and therefore his responses were genuine-had started her wondering. She found herself thinking, more often than she had in a very long time, about that night so many cycles ago when she'd woken to find a strange woman standing over her bunk. In defiance of all her training, Aeryn had always secretly wished she'd gotten to know that woman who called herself 'mother'. Seeing John with his father, no matter how unreal the situation had turned out to be, had given Aeryn a real sense of what she'd missed. Of what the Peacekeepers had denied her, with their injunctions against emotional ties.

For the first time, Aeryn was questioning the beliefs that had formed the foundation of her entire life, the wisdom and rightness of the Peacekeeper way. This alien-this human-had dropped into her life just half a cycle ago and had turned it upside-down. And now he was asking how she was doing?

"I'm fine, Crichton," she lied.


	6. Scales From Their Eyes

_"We can't survive like this any longer!" – Tanga_

 

Out of the corner of her eye, Aeryn saw John slip quietly into the command chamber. He snuck up behind Gilina, seated in the pilot's chair, and leaned over to rest his chin on her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"How's it goin', baby?" he asked lightly. "Crashed into any asteroids yet?"

Gilina reached up with one hand and smacked him lightly across the head. In response, John's arms tightened around her and his fingers sought out the ticklish spots along her ribs. Within microts, they had both dissolved into a puddle of giggles as she tried, half-heartedly, to fend him off.

Aeryn shook her head and turned away. Witnessing these two grow closer day by day was unavoidable, but she could at least allow them the illusion of privacy. Their constant small touches and whispers in passing,and the sheer unfettered playfulness, was unlike anything she'd experienced in her life. Part of her-the old part, the Peacekeeper part-saw the danger, the constant distraction from duty. But the other part, the new, growing, questioning part, was almost...envious.

The tech was sitting in the pilot's seat because Crichton, with his unique perspective, had suggested that all three of them work together, learning how to fly the ship and make basic repairs. Aeryn refused at first, by reflex; she was the pilot, and repairs were tech work. But John wouldn't let it go, pointing out the need for backup with such a small crew. After three solar days of his incessant prodding, she'd finally given in and agreed to his unorthodox plan.

Gilina and John were now learning basic piloting from Aeryn, who was in turn learning how to fix things from Gilina. Though she hadn't expected to, Aeryn found she enjoyed both the teaching and the learning. John was a quick study at the helm-to be expected since he had been a pilot on his own world. He'd already managed to pick up the rudiments of Peacekeeper flight control on his own. Gilina had been reluctant at first, hampered by the same ingrained notions of propriety that had inspired Aeryn's initial refusal, but once she accepted the task, her quick mind absorbed the concepts readily.

As the laughter behind her died down to breathless gasps, Aeryn realized this was the chance she'd been waiting for-all three of them together, and none of them with anything that absolutely had to be done right now. It was a discussion too long delayed, too long avoided. She turned to face them, gathering their attention with nothing more than her steady, unwavering gaze. Crichton noticed first and nudged Gilina.

"Something on your mind, Aeryn?" he asked.

"Yes."

John tilted his head slightly, expression fading to neutral. "Hmm, sounds serious." He and Gilina disentangled themselves and got up from the floor, where their brief wrestling match had landed them. They took seats facing Aeryn. "All right, G.I. Jane," John said, once they were settled. "What's the beef?"

With iron control, Aeryn restrained herself from reacting to the incomprehensible query. She'd learned, over the past weekens, that asking for an explanation invariably got answers that made no more sense than the original gibberish. Best to ignore it altogether.

"Before we encountered the Ancients, I believe the two of you had determined to seek a place away from the Peacekeepers. The decision, I believe, was for my benefit. True?"

John and Gilina exchanged glances, then nodded together. "Not entirely for your benefit," John clarified, "but yeah, you were the main reason."

"The situation has since changed. I believe we need to re-evaluate that decision."

"'Re-evaluate'? You saying you want to go back? Even knowing what they would have done to you?"

Aeryn nodded. She'd known this would be hard for him to understand. "I'm not blind to the Peacekeepers' faults, John, not anymore. But for all we do wrong, there are still many things we do right. We were once far better at holding to the ideals we purport to uphold. Even now, corrupt as you believe we are, thousands of worlds would dissolve into anarchy or fall prey to the Scarrans without our protection. I took an oath to the Peacekeepers. In spite of everything, that oath still means something to me. I can fight to support the Peacekeeper ideals-our true ideals-while attempting to correct the problems."

Crichton was staring intently at her. He muttered something under his breath, too softly for her to hear. Aeryn would have let it go, but Gilina turned to him and asked what he'd said.

"It's a quote, from back on Earth about a hundred years ago: 'My country, right or wrong. When right, to be kept right. When wrong, to be put right.' Something she reminded me of, just now."

Aeryn sat back, speechless. It was a concept totally foreign to the Peacekeeper definition of loyalty, which stressed obedience to superiors over everything. But put so concisely, the words carried her memories back to a time, and a man, over two cycles ago. A man of science, much like Crichton, who had perhaps had ideas much like those she was now developing, about addressing the evils of the Peacekeepers from within. Ironic, to be sure, that it had been she who turned Velorek in for his 'treason'.

John's voice broke into her recollections. "How about you, Gilina? Do you want to go back?"

Gilina shook her head. "I don't want to lose you."

A hand reached across to clasp hers. "It wouldn't be like that. If you really wanted to go back, I'd go with you."

"That's not what I meant, John. I know you would. But if we did go back, we couldn't be together; it would be too dangerous. If we were ever discovered, we'd both be executed."

"She's right, John," Aeryn said. "Peacekeepers do not tolerate such unions. They are considered threats to the purity of our bloodlines. Even if you were both Sebacean, the strong emotional bond you've developed would be frowned upon as disruptive."

"Is that how _you_ feel about it, Aeryn?" John asked pointedly.

She looked down at her hands, knowing what he was asking without his saying it. "I was trained from birth to believe those things, and it is difficult to overcome that. But whatever my opinion, you have nothing to fear from me. You saved my life, and convinced me to live when I thought I didn't want to. Whether you leave or return, I will not speak against you. If you choose to make your own way, I will report that you were killed on the _Zelbinion_. That should ensure that you are not pursued for desertion."

Gilina stared at her in astonishment. John appeared less shocked, but no less grateful.

"So," he said, breaking the silence, "how are we going to manage it?"

Having anticipated this question, Aeryn turned to the computer and punched up a display she'd prepared. "There's a planet, here, about two weekens away. The data we have is sketchy, but it seems to be a Peacekeeper agricultural supply depot. It's unusual to find one this far out, but perhaps this planet had something special to offer. Peacekeeper ships come twice a cycle to acquire supplies. If we land the Marauder there, I will be picked up and returned to the carrier eventually."

She pointed to another point on the display. "Just a few solar days beyond that planet is a small commerce station in an asteroid field. No indication of Peacekeeper presence is listed, but there is a notation about the availability of good maps there.

"If we stop on the planet, we can acquire supplies, and perhaps a good-sized transport ship. But even if there is no ship available, the station would be within the range of your module. Right, Crichton?"

John got up and peered at the map, calculating times and distances. "With two passengers...barely. Minimal margin for error. We enhanced the life-support systems, but the _Farscape_ was never designed for long-range travel."

"Peacekeeper vessels like this one are allotted a generous amount of common currency, for use in re-provisioning when the mission lasts longer than anticipated. The money we have left should be enough to provide for your needs until you find a place to settle and work, and its loss will be easily explained by the Sheyangs who boarded the Marauder and killed you." Aeryn smirked at that.

 

* * *

 

It had been a great plan. John had to admit that. Abso-frelling-lutely beautiful. But the power of the Almighty Murphy, it seemed, extended even to the Uncharted Territories. John was starting to think that this whole trip was jinxed.

The ropes binding his hands were rough and painfully tight, and a hood over his face made it difficult to breathe. He knew the others were still alive and nearby-he could hear their ragged breathing, punctuated by the occasional grunt of effort as Aeryn tried to loosen her bindings.

The door snicked open, and John heard several sets of feet entering the room. A touch of cold metal at his wrist freed his hands. He ripped the hood off and sucked in a deep breath, gathering himself to fight back... and then froze and sat back as he identified the wrong end of a pulse rifle pointed at him from a distance of about two feet.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Aeryn and Gilina reacting much as he had as their own bindings were cut, and stopping for the same reason.

A woman stepped forward from among the many now staring at the captives. Though young and slight of frame, she carried herself with the authority of leadership. "Welcome to Sykar," she sneered, her voice heavy with irony.

 

* * *

 

Aeryn had never felt so stupid. Last time she'd been captured, at least she'd had the excuse of being knocked unconscious by the escaping Leviathan's starburst. This time, though, she'd walked blindly and confidently right into the trap. The data spools on the Marauder, which listed this planet as a Peacekeeper outpost, had lulled her into complacency. The others had followed her lead and suffered the same fate, compounding her error.

"Why have you imprisoned us?" Aeryn asked sharply. "We did nothing to you. All we asked was to purchase supplies."

"You are Peacekeepers. You enslave my people, destroy my planet, and you claim you have done nothing?"

"Hey, lady," John piped in, "whatever beef you've got with the Peacekeepers has got nothin' to do with us. What do you want?"

The woman smiled coldly. "That is a discussion for later. For now, we've brought you food and water. Enjoy my generosity, Peacekeepers. It may not happen again soon."

A bowl of something that looked like bits of dried vegetables was placed on the floor nearby, along with a large bucket of water. The woman saw them looking at the food doubtfully and growled, "Don't complain about the food; we have nothing else to offer you. Your people saw to that." Then she stalked out, followed by the guards, who kept their rifles trained on the prisoners until the door shut and locked.

They were all hungry, but none seemed eager to be the first to eat. After a hundred microts or more of silence, Aeryn shook her head and reached for the bowl. "We should keep our strength up, to be ready when we see an opportunity to escape." She grabbed a handful of the rations and handed the bowl to the tech, who followed her lead and passed it across to Crichton.

Popping a piece into her mouth, Aeryn started eating. The food was bland, but after monens of eating processed food cubes, anything fresh was a welcome change. After a while, it started tasting better. Or maybe she just stopped caring how it tasted.

 

* * *

 

"Walk with me," the old man at the door ordered.

"Sure," John replied agreeably, pushing himself up off the floor. Aeryn and Gilina lay sprawled on the floor, both sleeping. Aeryn had only returned to the room a quarter arn before, after spending time out talking with the Sykarans.

It was a beautiful morning outside, already warm enough to work up a good sweat. Blue sky, fresh air. Obediently, he tagged along as they walked through the decrepit streets of the city.

"Officer Sun told me something interesting about you, Crichton," the man said, not meeting his eyes. "She claims you aren't a Peacekeeper at all, not even the same species."

"Nope," John said proudly. "Human. One of a kind in this neck of the woods."

The man frowned at the strange syntax. "How do you feel about them? The Peacekeepers, I mean."

John thought about it for a while, turning thoughts and feelings over in a mind that seemed about as clear as mud. "I dunno. On the whole, guess I'm not real fond of 'em," he said finally. "Touchy, kinda violent. Some of 'em are okay, though. Aeryn's calmed down a lot since I met her, and Gilina's great. They're not bad people...just sort of warped by their upbringing, I guess."

"Why are you with them?"

"Kinda got dropped in their laps. Their captain decided I had something he wanted, so he kept me around, gave me a place to live so I could work on his pet project."

They were walking out of the city now, into the green fields that surrounded it. In the distance, the hills were brown and gray, like a desert. Hundreds of people were scattered across the landscape, digging large bulbous roots out of the ground. As John and the woman walked down the road, he noticed two people, a man and a woman, waiting for them near what looked eerily like a railroad car.

John was ushered inside, and the other three spent several long minutes in hushed conference. John gazed around, just enjoying the pleasant familiarity of the surroundings.

Gradually, the voices rose to a level where he could distinguish the words, though he paid them little attention. They weren't talking to him.

"This is madness, Father!"

"It may be, Tanga, but what other choice do we have? You believe we can fight them, but that is hopeless; they are too many, too powerful. I had hoped we were too far away, that we weren't worth the trouble to strike down, but you heard the Peacekeeper when we questioned her. We can no longer cling to that comforting illusion. This alien may be our only chance."

"Why would he help us, Hybin? He's like the Others, the Peacekeepers. He's one of them!" This was the other man, the younger one.

"He's _not_ one of them. He's all but a prisoner among them, and he spoke to me of his dissatisfaction with their ways. He may understand if we show him what has been done here."

"You truly intend to go through with this? It's the only one we have left."

"Yes. Bring it."

John felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder. He'd been admiring the harvested roots that lined the walls, breathing in the rich scents of soil and plant life. The woman-Tanga-stood behind him. "Come with me," she said. "We have something for you."

"A present?" John queried hopefully. Fond recollections of Christmas and birthdays past flashed past his inner eye.

"Not exactly," was his only warning. Suddenly, two pairs of strong hands forced him backwards to the ground, while a third person tore open his tech-issue jump suit to the waist. John caught a brief glimpse of something white and wriggling just before intense pain stabbed through his stomach. The hands released him, and he curled into a tight ball, clutching his abdomen.

"The pain will pass quickly," said a distant voice, through the roar of agony and his own screaming. "You have already consumed enough tannot to satiate the worm."

A wave of nausea rolled in, leaving him gagging. The world faded out for a moment, but when he opened his eyes again, his mind was clear, his memories back in focus, and his anger rising quickly.

"What the hell did you people do to me?" he demanded, pushing himself back against a wall to face his assailants. The nausea began fading, and the cramps had eased to a mild discomfort. The artificial sensations of comfort and contentment were gone.

"The worm will protect you from the effects of the tannot," the old man said.

John blinked. "Tannot? What the hell's tannot?" Not that he cared, he just wanted this damn worm out of his gut.

"The food you were provided, tannot root," the woman explained. "It is what they harvest outside even now." She spent several minutes recounting the history behind the psychotropic plant, how her people had been forced to grow it and how when they started to eat it, it acted on the mind like a drug.

John's mind boggled at the strange situation he found himself in. "Okay, let me get this straight. You captured us, doped us to the gills on this happy plant. You had perfect hostages, who'd never try to escape. Why cure me?"

"We need your help," Hybin said quietly.

"My help?" John laughed incredulously. "I think you've been smoking too much tannot, old man. You've given me no reason to want to help you, and I seriously doubt there's anything I could do, even if I wanted to."

Hybin ignored the outburst. "We need an intermediary, to plead our case with the Peacekeepers when they come. They will never listen to any of our people, for they view us as inferior, as slaves, nothing but bodies to do their labor for them."

"I'm not a Peacekeeper. I thought you knew that already."

"Yes, we know," Hybin said, nodding. "That is why I chose you over your companions. Their minds are closed; they will not listen to what we say, nor see what we show them. You, however, are alien to them, even as we are, and yet they suffer you to live among them, work with them. Perhaps it is because you look so much like them, and they forget to hate."

John shrugged. "Not so's you'd notice," he muttered.

"You do not approve of the Peacekeepers' ways." Tanga phrased this as a statement rather than a question, but still waited for some response.

"Not all of them, no," John admitted.

"They are killing my planet, destroying my people," she said, with great intensity. "At first, all we saw were small ships coming to collect our harvest, a few dozen soldiers at most. We believed we could fight them if only we had weapons. But then strangers arrived on our world and told us stories of the Peacekeepers, their cruelty and their massive forces. They brought us weapons, showed us how to refine the root into chakan oil. But Father is correct: if we try to fight them, our chances of victory will be small.

"If it comes to that, we _will_ fight, because we have no other choice. We either fight and die, or surrender and die anyway. We would prefer that they simply went away and left us alone. My father is hoping you can speak to them on our behalf, make them see what they've done to us, convince them we are not worth the trouble to keep or destroy."

Her father Hybin added, "This is why we cured you. We need you to see with clear eyes. When they come, you will be able to speak to them with your mind unimpaired."

John thought for a moment. The Peacekeepers he knew who might listen to him he could count on the fingers of one hand, and they were all a long way from here; these people were really grasping at straws. It occurred to him, however, that he should play along for the moment, if only to find some opportunity for escape.

 

* * *

 

Unable to sleep through another hot night, John finally gave up and got out of bed, leaving Gilina slumbering contentedly beneath the thin covers. He wandered out into the common room of the suite the Sykarans had provided. His bare feet made no noise to disturb the others as he began to pace slowly back and forth.

He needed to think. Twenty-seven days. _Almost four frelling weeks, and nothing to show for it_ , John mused in frustration. Aeryn and Gilina were still completely in the thrall of the tannot root, happy and brainless. Tanga claimed she had no more symbiotic worms to offer them, but they were also hostages to John's good behavior. If he tried to flee, he knew, they would be sent out to work in the fields under the hot sun. There, they would quickly succumb to heat delirium and the Living Death. And despite his urgings, they refused to consider any thought of escape themselves, declaring their perfect contentment with their new lives here.

The women spent their days performing tasks assigned to them, tasks that both took advantage of their unique skills and kept them indoors. For Aeryn, this meant training hordes of pliant Sykaran workers in the tactics of war and the use of weapons. Gilina's tech skills had been co-opted into the production of chakan oil and pulse weapons. John felt constant twinges of sympathetic pain for them, as they were forced to aid and abet an enemy and unknowingly violate oaths that he knew they both took very seriously.

John's days were spent with Hybin, Tanga, or their fellow rebels. He'd started out simply playing along, humoring them while he waited for an opportunity. But the more he saw of what had been done to this planet-the vast expanses of wasted, dead land where nothing would grow any longer, the cities falling into ruin through lack of upkeep, the empty concert halls where the Sykarans' great musicians no longer played-the more he felt sympathy for their plight. Seeing what the tannot was doing to his friends, not to mention to the entire Sykaran population, only further incensed him.

The Peacekeepers could arrive any day; they were, in fact, overdue for their scheduled pickup. The plan he and the others had made before they arrived, leaving Aeryn free to return as the sole survivor of a disastrous mission while he and Gilina flew off into the Uncharted Territories, was clearly no longer an option. While he might be able to knock Gilina out and drag her to the Marauder unseen, he could not in good conscience leave Aeryn to face the consequences of this situation alone. In her current state, she'd likely confess her actions freely to the Peacekeepers and walk smiling to her execution for treason before the tannot wore off.

John had thought about attempting to disable both women, but had quickly abandoned the notion as insane. The tannot might dampen her will and give her a constant feeling of contentment and euphoria, but it hadn't done anything to dull Aeryn's highly trained reflexes. Painful as it was to John's male ego to admit it, he was simply no match for her in a hand-to-hand confrontation.

Which left what? The Peacekeepers were late; would they come at all? If they got wind of this planet's little rebellion, would they simply write it off as a loss, since there was so little to gain by reasserting their control? At best, this planet had about five more cycles of tannot production before the remaining soil was depleted and the people simply died of starvation.

If that was the case, then he and the others could be stuck here for a very-

The sounds of a struggle outside stopped John in his tracks. There was a strangled, muffled shout, and then the sound of a body hitting the ground outside the front door. All of the amorphous possibilities in John's mind coalesced into a single thought-rescue. A microt later, the front door to their lodgings was kicked open and several silent black shadows glided in.

_Hot damn,_ John thought, _the cavalry's arrived!_

With a single glance at John's tech jumpsuit, one of the commandos lowered his weapon and spoke to him. "How many more?"

Playing along with his assumed role as a Peacekeeper tech-no sense wasting time clarifying his ambiguous status-John replied briskly. "Two others, one in each room. They've been drugged, so they won't come willingly."

"Understood." Several fast hand signs sent two of the black forms towards the doors John had pointed out. There were two nearly identical shouts of surprise and pain, and then silence reigned once again.

Within minutes, John was racing through the dark streets surrounded by the commando squad. Aeryn and Gilina's unconscious bodies were slung limply over the shoulders of two soldiers who ran alongside him. The Sykaran city slept on around them in drug-induced bliss.

As they left the city streets and moved out into the barren fields, he saw a second Marauder crouched next to theirs, like a couple of huge alien bugs. They were nearly twins, except for some heftier-looking gun ports on the new arrival.

He was herded roughly aboard, and the Marauder powered up and launched itself into the sky before he'd taken ten steps into the corridors.

 

* * *

 

The biggest shock, in a day already full of surprises, was when he walked through the doors of the commander's office on the Peacekeeper ship.

"Tauvo!" he cried, laughing in surprised relief. He'd expected to see a complete stranger, but he supposed it made sense. Captain Crais' convoy had been the closest patrol to this part of space, so of course he'd have been called upon to respond to the situation on Sykar. And Tauvo was his most trusted lieutenant, frequently sent on detached duty assignments, such as chasing down escaped prisoners and apparently dealing with small planetary insurrections.

The younger Crais, for his part, looked up at the human with surprise, annoyance, and carefully concealed pleasure. He dismissed the commando with a gesture.

"Crichton." He greeted John with a smile. "It's good to see you still alive. The captain was...concerned, when we had no news of you for so long."

"Yeah, well, we had a few problems. Nice ship you've got here, Lieutenant. It's not a Vigilante, is it? Seems bigger than I remember."

Tauvo shook his head, smiling proudly. "It's an Intruder-class frigate. Four times bigger than a Vigilante, though still less than one-fifth the length of the carrier. They usually fly as escorts in the convoy. We needed something larger than a Vigilante to deal with this situation, but sending a full carrier would have been overkill. Not to mention that it would have drawn unwanted attention to our operations here."

"So, a frigate, eh?" John whistled, impressed. "Moving up in the world, my man. When are they going to give you a carrier of your own?"

"It will be many cycles, Crichton, if ever. The standard route for such promotions would have me serving as second-in-command on a carrier for at least three cycles. As it stands, I am still only the fourth-ranked officer aboard my brother's ship; Lieutenants Teeg and Braca are senior to me."

"Ah." John smiled at Tauvo's poorly-concealed anticipation of his future career path.

"I presume the other two we retrieved were also members of your expedition?" Back to business.

"Yeah." John nodded, feeling his fatigue now that the adrenaline had worn off. He sank into a chair. It was still the middle of the night on his internal clock. "Aeryn Sun and Gilina Renaez. The others were killed on the _Zelbinion_ , when a bunch of fire-breathing froggies attacked the transport."

Tauvo gave a quizzical look at the incomprehensible description.

"Sheyangs," John clarified. "They damaged the Marauder pretty bad, so we've just been limping back as best we could ever since. At least until we got caught up in this little revolution."

"The situation on Sykar will be dealt with soon," Tauvo assured him. "We only delayed this long because we detected your ship on the surface and had to mount a retrieval mission first. High Command learned of the uprising when a patrol captured their deposed leader trying to sell a load of stolen tannot root on the black market. How did you end up in their hands?"

John nearly smiled at Tauvo's smooth transition from friendly curiosity to professional interrogation. The man wanted more information before taking action. The trick would be giving him what he needed without betraying either Gilina or Aeryn's...unauthorized activities.

"We stopped here for supplies. The Marauder's data indicated that this was a Peacekeeper outpost, so we hoped to make contact with someone and get word to the convoy. We weren't expecting trouble. The Sykarans caught us by surprise, ambushed us. Officer Sun fought hard, but we were badly outnumbered." It was the least he could do to help bolster Aeryn's reputation.

Crais nodded without commenting, and moved on to the next issue. "I understand from the retrieval squad's initial report that Sun and Renaez were both suffering from tannot narcosis. I take it humans are immune to the root's effects?"

John gave a short, humorless laugh. "Not so's you'd notice. I was high as a kite, just like them, for the first few days. But then the Sykarans stuck a worm in my gut, and I didn't even get a shot of tequila to wash it down with." The thought still disgusted him, but he'd had several weeks to get used to it. He supposed it wasn't any grosser than the dentics.

"A worm? Where did they get their hands on one of those? It's not native to this planet, and the founders of this operation only provided one, to the Sykaran leader we captured."

"I dunno," John admitted. "Tanga said they were rare, but they've provided a few dozen to key people over the months. Maybe the one your guys left behind had kids."

Tauvo shook his head. "It's not important. The real question is, why give one to you?"

Now came the moment of truth. For half a microt, John was tempted to keep quiet and let Tauvo get on with suppressing the rebellion in fine Peacekeeper style. Payback, he mused, for their treatment of Gilina and Aeryn.

But the petty impulse passed quickly as he recalled the potential tragedies brewing. Taking a deep breath, John kept the promise he'd made to Hybin and Tanga, in spite of having made it under duress. It wasn't for them, however, but for all the hundreds of innocent Sykaran workers who still toiled in a blissful haze on their dying planet.

"They gave me the worm because they needed a voice to speak for them, someone the Peacekeepers might actually listen to, since they knew you'd never bother to listen to them."

Tauvo scowled at him, all pretense of camaraderie banished. "And why should we?" he growled. "They're primitive, weak, inferior in every way. Fit only for physical labor, and with no better purpose than what we have provided for them. What would you have us do, treat them as equals?"

John sat quietly, unfazed by the outburst; he'd expected that type of response. He shook his head sadly. "No, I know that would be too much to expect from you."

Tauvo frowned at the implied insult, but John ignored the look and went on.

"They're _people_ , Tauvo. They had a lovely planet and a working society once, and now it's all fallen apart thanks to you. I'm sure you consider me just as primitive as the Sykarans, but remember, with less than a cycle of training, I'm flying your ships, repairing your machines, and getting closer to understanding wormholes than _any_ of your so-called scientists. Just because they aren't as technologically advanced as you are doesn't mean they're stupid or weak. You want to think of non-Sebaceans as inferior? Fine. It's no skin off my nose, and I'm not going to tell you what to think. But inferior or not, primitive or not, _nobody_ deserves what the Peacekeepers have done to this planet."

Crais shook his head petulantly and got to his feet. "I don't understand your problem," he insisted, pacing restlessly across the office floor. "Those people are happy in their work. What more can they want?"

John jumped to his feet. "Happy? You call that happy? They're blissed-out on a _narcotic_! Aeryn and Gilina were 'happy' while they were there, too, but you were certainly quick enough to knock them out and drag them up here. It's good enough for an alien, but not for you, is that it?"

Tauvo didn't reply.

John took a deep breath, sensing that this conversation was getting away from the point he was trying to make. "Tauvo, happiness or the lack thereof is not the issue. They're ready to fight and die, and it's not because they're not happy. They're fighting because they have no other choice. They're dying already."

Tauvo snorted, amused and disbelieving. "Such dramatic words. I'm sure they wanted you to believe that, to provoke your pity. I know how these people operate. Blatant propaganda for a sympathetic ear-"

"Damn it, Crais," John interrupted, "that's not the way it was at all!" John bit down hard on his tongue to keep himself from saying some of the things he wanted to. Insult and invective would not help his arguments. Clearly Tauvo was not in any mood to listen to him. Time for another tactic.

"Fine," John said at last, taking a deep, calming breath. "You don't believe me. When I first heard their story, I thought they were spinning me a line of bull, too. But then I walked outside and saw it for myself. There's a saying among my people: 'Seeing is believing'. Feel like testing that theory out, Tauvo?"

"What?"

"Come with me, down to the planet. Take a look at what you're fighting against before you order it all blown to kingdom come."

Tauvo gave him that look, the one Gilina had perfected all those months ago: feigning humor at the human's incomprehensible jargon. It was much easier to take from her than it was from Tauvo. Before the Peacekeeper could dismiss the notion out of hand, though, John played his trump card.

"Or are you too much of a coward to look your enemies in the eye before you kill them?"

 

* * *

 

The Marauder settled onto the dusty ground with a bone-jarring thump; Tauvo was apparently still in a bad mood, and taking it out on the helm controls.

After John had flung down that challenge, he'd taken one look at Tauvo's face and realized he might have made a grave error. The man had looked ready to kill. And with Peacekeepers, the likelihood of him indulging that urge was somewhat higher than it would have been back home.

_Well, we're here now,_ John mused. _Guess that means he decided not to kill me after all._ They'd waited twelve arns, until the heat of the day had passed-and hopefully the heat of Tauvo's temper, as well. Long enough for John to go to medical and have his unwelcome guest removed, at least. It had hurt like hell, but it was a relief to finally have the critter gone.

Tauvo appeared out of the corridor and walked towards the Marauder's drop hatch with a stiff-legged, angry stride. Before he reached the opening, however, John stopped him.

"What now, human?" Crais asked impatiently. "Having second thoughts about this waste of time?"

"No, Lieutenant," John said, deciding not to get too personal in his address for the moment. "I think I should go first. They're less likely to shoot me on sight, and I need to explain to them what we're doing."

"All right, Crichton," Tauvo agreed bitterly. "That will have to be your task, since I personally have _no_ idea why we're here."

John smiled wryly and dropped out of the ship to the ground without another word.

Two dozen Sykarans with homemade pulse rifles surrounded the ship, positioned behind whatever cover they could find. John looked around carefully and spotted the people he needed to talk to. Raising his hands slowly to show he was unarmed, he walked towards Tanga and Hybin.

"Why have you returned here, Crichton?" the woman spat, enraged. "Have you betrayed us, brought soldiers to kill us? We will fight to the last-"

"Tanga, shut up," John said amiably, cutting her off mid-rant. "You're luckier than you have any right to be, you know that? Out of thousands of Peacekeeper officers High Command might have sent, any one of whom would have locked me up as soon as look at me, you've got the _one_ man in command of the ship in orbit who seems to have a little respect for me. If it were anyone else, you'd already be dead, so get off your high horse and thank your lucky stars I'm such a nice guy. I did what you asked, in spite of what you did to Aeryn and Gilina. I'm trying to help."

Tanga subsided, still looking peeved. Hybin jumped in instead, covering for his daughter's poor manners. "Thank you for your efforts, whatever the outcome, Crichton. But the question remains, why are you here?"

"I've brought the Peacekeeper commander with me-he's alone, Tanga, don't get your skivvies in an uproar. I want to show him what you showed me. I'm hoping he'll believe his own eyes, since he won't listen to me."

Tanga continued to glare at the ship, as if expecting an entire regiment of commando troops to issue forth and slaughter them at any moment.

John raised his voice slightly, pulling her attention back to the discussion. "Will you give me your word that you won't harm either of us while we're here?" he asked.

Tanga's face was set in a stubborn scowl, ready to deny any Peacekeeper the right to set foot on her planet, but then Hybin caught her eye and nodded, his eyes pleading. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself and nodded. "Fine, show the Peacekeeper the atrocities his people have committed here, the death and destruction they have caused with their cursed tannot plants. But don't expect him to feel anything, Crichton. From what we've seen over the cycles, and from what others have told us of their ways, I don't believe they're capable of it."

John shook his head sadly, but didn't contradict her. There was some truth to her words; Peacekeeper training did seem to actively discourage soft emotions such as compassion, pity, and love. In some soldiers, that training might even succeed in eradicating those feelings altogether. But not in all of them. Aeryn Sun had rediscovered them in the past few months, and John hoped that Tauvo, too, would be able to reconnect to those old feelings once again. John had a few ideas on how to accomplish that.

The tour, such as it was, did not start well. John showed Tauvo examples of the Sykarans' problems, but Tauvo staunchly refused to look at anything, and invariably found excuses. Finally, as they were standing in the middle of a dusty, eroded field, barren and wasted, John stopped and turned to him.

"Tauvo," he began, "you told me you once lived on a planet as a child, before coming to the Peacekeepers. Do you remember much about it?"

"Some. Images, mostly."

"Did people have farms there, or is that beneath the dignity of a superior race?" John asked.

He could almost see Crais swell up in indignation. "If you must know, we lived on a farming commune. My parents _were_ farmers."

"Well, good. Remember anything about it? What the farm looked like, what your parents grew, that sort of thing?"

"Crichton, what the frell does any of this have to do-"

"Humor me, Tauvo. Please."

Crais growled under his breath in frustration. "Fine, yes, I do remember some things. It was a beautiful place; I hope to be able to return to visit one day, should my duty allow."

John crouched down and picked up a handful of dirt, letting it sift through his fingers and blow away in the breeze. "Beautiful, you say? There are farms on my planet, too, y'know. Grandpa MacDougall had one, and I remember visiting as a kid. Green plants, rich soil, a respect for the land; any of that sound familiar?"

"Yes..."

"Okay, I want you to imagine something for me. You've gone back to visit, to see your parents' farm. But while you were gone, someone else came to that planet. Aliens. They stripped the world of everything that made it good and healthy, taking it all for themselves. That beautiful place you remember has been turned into this!" John stood abruptly and threw a handful of the dead Sykaran soil at Tauvo's feet. The dry dirt pelted his already dusty boots.

Crais stared at him, too shocked to even reply. John continued shouting with barely a pause for breath. "They came here, and they forced these people to plant tannot. And not just grow it the way they grew anything else, but relentlessly, constantly, on every square inch of ground. No rest, no letting fields lie fallow, no crop rotation, nothing but constant tilling and harvesting. The Peacekeepers have sucked every bit of juice out of this soil, shipped it off-world and used it to make ammunition for their guns. Thirty cycles-only _thirty_ -and they have managed to turn a fertile, productive world into a wasteland."

Tauvo opened his mouth to say something, but John cut him off. "This isn't just cruel and destructive-I know those aren't serious Peacekeeper concerns-it's also frelling _wasteful_. You've used up an entire planet in under fifty cycles. How long has this been going on? How many dead worlds have you created within Peacekeeper space that you had to come this far out into the Uncharted Territories to find a new one to plunder?"

The questions were rendered rhetorical, as John again didn't wait for a reply. "It's a waste of effort, of resources, and of time, Tauvo. A planet like this one could have grown tannot for you for centuries-millennia, even-if you'd allowed them to do it properly. But by forcing these people to grow nothing else, to eat the root and suffer the narcotic effects, you didn't create happy, productive slaves. You created mindless automatons, who weren't able to care for their land the way it needed them to. The way your parents cared for theirs."

John finally stopped to take a breath, still glaring a challenge at the young Peacekeeper officer. He'd put every ounce of sincerity and passion he had into his arguments, because he needed Tauvo to understand. And not just for the Sykarans' sake, but for his own selfish reasons as well. He was back with the Peacekeepers now, like it or not. Sure, Gilina and Aeryn were good company, but John found himself missing guy talk, the kind of freewheeling relationship he'd had for so many years with DK. Tauvo was the closest thing John had to a male friend on this side of the universe, and he desperately wanted to like the guy. He just didn't think that would be possible if Tauvo ended up exterminating a planet full of innocent people.

For his part, Tauvo just stared at him with a stunned expression. Behind the eyes, John could see conflict raging between the grown man who stood before him, with all his years of Peacekeeper indoctrination and training, and the small boy buried deep within who remembered what it had been like to run through lush fields and smell green things growing.

Tauvo's fingers twitched at his sides, and John had to restrain the urge to back away a step. The last time he'd spoken to a Peacekeeper the way he'd just railed at Tauvo, the man had nearly ripped his head off. And this time, Aeryn wasn't there to intervene.

Finally, though, Crais tore his eyes away from John and looked out at the desolation. Possibly he was really seeing it for the first time: the dusty, grey soil, the skeletal trunks of long-dead trees, and the severe erosion on every hillside. Several hundred microts passed in silence, but gradually his shocked expression softened into something John might almost have named regret.

"You're correct, of course," Crais said at last in stilted, military tones. "This production method does have some unfortunate flaws. Chakan oil is essential for all Peacekeeper weapons, but tannot can only be grown in climates which are too hot for Sebaceans. We need other races to provide it for us. Perhaps we have chosen unwisely in stressing absolute control of the production lines over efficiency and sustainability. It is simply the Peacekeeper way."

It was a big concession, so John replied in much quieter and more amiable tones. "Tauvo, what were your exact orders for this mission? Do you have any room to maneuver here?"

"I was ordered to investigate reports of an uprising on Sykar, and to put an end to it by whatever methods I felt were required. Standard procedure calls for me to restore the planet to full production if possible. Should that fail, or should the cost appear to outweigh the potential benefits, I would be expected to make an example of them, and see to it that our adversaries could never make similar use of this planet."

"'By any means necessary', eh?" John smiled slightly, hopefully. "Well, I guarantee Tanga's people won't agree to _status quo ante_ , so that option is out. And you're never going to agree to their demands."

"Absolutely not."

"But if you're willing to sit down and talk to them-and listen to them-we may be able to work out a compromise that will work to everyone's benefit."

Tauvo frowned doubtfully, but then glanced around him once again. With obvious reluctance, he nodded, saying, "I suppose it's worth a try."

 

* * *

 

Consciousness returned slowly, bringing with it sounds and smells that were at once foreign and strangely familiar. The sense of well-being, contentment, and perfect fulfillment Aeryn had enjoyed for so long had vanished, leaving behind only pain and confusion. Still not fully awake, her mind tried to examine the loss, like a tongue probing for a missing tooth. Was she late? Oversleeping? Shirking her work? Was that the source of these unpleasant feelings?

Blue-grey eyes fluttered open, squinting at the bright light. The first glimpse of gunmetal grey walls and red detailing brought with it a flood of memories: of the planet, the weekens aboard the Marauder, and of the many cycles prior to all that aboard ships like this. Of oaths, and duty, and rules-and her recent violation of every single one. _For the love of Chilnak...treason upon treason._ What had she done?

Glancing around, expecting to see guards posted and ready to drag her to her tribunal, she found only a long row of bunks in the recovery wing of the med bay. An Intruder class ship, by the looks of it. All of the beds were empty save for the one next to hers, where Gilina lay, mercifully still unconscious. Better for her, perhaps, if she remained so; their fates would be the same.

If only she could understand why. Every instruction she'd received had seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, but now, suddenly, nothing she had done made any sense. Where had her mind gone for all that time? Honorable retirement, which she'd faced and accepted after her injury, would have been infinitely preferable to this. At least then she wouldn't have died a traitor.

The door on the far wall cycled open, rousing her from her bleak thoughts. Crichton walked in, his shoulders hunched with exhaustion, his clothing filthy. He wore a pensive expression, moving almost without volition directly to Gilina's side, like a ship drawn in by a docking web, and sank down to sit on the edge of her bed. He simply held Gilina's hand, gazing at her in silence for several microts. Finally, perhaps sensing her gaze, he looked up and met Aeryn's eyes.

"Hey," he said quietly. "How're you feelin'?"

Aeryn thought a moment before replying. "What is that human saying I've heard you use? 'Like crab'?"

John laughed. "It's 'crap', Aeryn. 'Like crap.'" He paused, then gave a rueful smile. "Now, don't take this the wrong way, but that's actually really good to hear. Tannot narcosis just makes you way too pleasant and agreeable; it's nice to have you back to your kick-ass self."

Aeryn's jaw dropped. "Tannot narcosis? What are you saying?"

"What, no one told you? You were drugged, Aeryn, the whole time on the planet. Both you and Gilina. Me too, for a while, until they decided they needed me sober. Nothing you did was your fault. It was the tannot."

"Drugged?"

"'Fraid so. From what little they told me, the toxin in the tannot root short-circuits your higher functions and stimulates the pleasure centers of the brain. You eat the stuff and suddenly you can't think for yourself anymore, and you're happy no matter what you're doing."

"But-"

"But nothing, Aeryn," he said, cutting off her objections. "The Sykarans could have told you to go work in the fields, and you'd have done it. You'd have sat out there in the sun, completely content with everything, right up until you hit the Living Death. If I were you, I'd be grateful they asked so little of you."

Crichton's words eventually sank in, and she sighed. It was good to at least know the reasons. She could face her execution now, and at least not die thinking of _herself_ as a traitor.

Crichton must have seen something of her thoughts in her face, because he reached across and touched her elbow to catch her attention. "I didn't tell Lt. Crais about anything that happened on the planet, or since the _Zelbinion_ , for that matter, except for vague generalities. I wouldn't betray you like that. And besides, the way the situation stands now, I don't think Tauvo's going to ask any questions. The less he knows, the less chance he'll find out something that will disturb what we've built down there."

Confusion, strangely enough, won out over relief at her reprieve. "Built? I presumed this ship was here to put down the insurrection."

Crichton smiled enigmatically. "And so they are. But there's no insurrection on Sykar anymore, and as far as anyone will ever know, there never was. The end result, however, may not be what the big boys at High Command were expecting." The grin widened; he seemed inordinately pleased about something.

"What have you done, Crichton?" she demanded, not sure whether to be amused or apprehensive about the possibilities.

"Me?" he replied with exaggerated innocence. "What makes you think _I_ did anything?"

"Crichton..."

He held up his hands quickly. "Fine, okay, maybe I had a few words with Lt. Crais about the situation on the planet."

"A few words. Crichton, you have never, in all the time I have known you, been able to limit yourself to a _few_ words. Just tell me what happened."

The human was unrepentant, but did finally settle down to detail how he'd shown Crais the Sykarans' legitimate grievances, and how Crais had ultimately agreed to sit down with them to discuss options.

"As you might imagine," Crichton continued ruefully, "having Tanga and Tauvo in the same room together did not make for a quiet negotiation. I started to wonder if they'd stop throwing insults at each other long enough to actually sit down and talk. Once they did, though, it took some time to convince Tanga that compromise was a good idea. Sending the Peacekeepers away altogether would not have solved her people's problems, even if the Peacekeepers would agree to go."

"Which they wouldn't."

"Exactly. And then we had to get Tauvo to understand that the Peacekeepers won't get anything more out of this planet unless they put something in. There's just nothing left to give."

"Like what?"

"Like food, for starters, something other than tannot root. They'll need regular shipments until they can get their land restored and grow their own again. And towards that goal, the Peacekeepers need to provide fertilizers to replace all the nutrients the tannot crops depleted over the cycles. That's actually the easiest thing to provide; just vacuum-sterilize the output from ships' waste recyclers and drop it by the transport-load. Costs next to nothing; you guys usually just dump the stuff in space."

"And Lt. Crais agreed to this?" Aeryn asked incredulously.

"It took some convincing, but yes. They both did. It will be a few cycles before production can get going again, but Tanga agreed that they will keep growing tannot for the Peacekeepers-in addition to their own food and cash crops-in exchange for shipments of fertilizer, food, and other necessities. It's the best arrangement for everyone; all the other options end up with the Sykarans dead, now or later, and tannot production ceased permanently. I think you and Tauvo may have a lot more in common than you think, Aeryn. You both love your jobs, but privately you also both see the flaws in Peacekeeper policies."

Aeryn pondered that, intrigued. She didn't know Crais well; the carrier was a big ship, and he'd been in a different Prowler regiment than the one to which she'd previously been assigned.

"It may have also helped," Crichton went on, "that he remembers his childhood on his parents' farm. It certainly gave the Sykarans' situation more resonance for him. And those memories may also make selling this plan to his brother back on the carrier a whole lot easier."

As the situation finally began to sink in, Aeryn stared at this strange alien for long microts, torn between wonder and horror. He endured the piercing gaze for as long as he could, then finally flinched and asked, "What?"

"What is it about you, Crichton? You drop into our side of the universe with nothing but a tiny, primitive ship and the clothes you were wearing, and in less than a cycle you've turned lives upside down. We were content,before, following the rules we were given and not questioning. Everything made sense. But now you're here and the rules no longer apply. I find myself questioning everything I once believed in. Lt. Crais just broke every standard procedure for the sake of one tiny farming planet. Even Gilina...she was ready to give up her whole life here and follow you out into the unknown."

The object of her inquiry was just staring at her, speechless for once.

"You're a roaming point source of irreversible contamination, that's what you are. High Command had better hope you find your way home quickly, John. Otherwise, who knows what damage you might wreak, or what the Peacekeepers will be when you get through with them."

"Are you sorry I dropped into your life, Aeryn?" he asked, quietly.

She cocked her head at him quizzically. "You've changed us, Crichton. By all rights, I should hate you. Instead, I feel grateful, and I think Gilina would agree with me on this. I can not return to what I was-blindly obedient-now that I've learned to see."


	7. Reversible Contamination

_"I've always thought of myself in terms of survival - life and death, keeping the body alive." - Aeryn Sun_

 

"Hey, Lieutenant, what's cookin'?"

Tauvo Crais looked up from the report on his desk with a baleful glare. "Cooking? Do I look like a food preparer?"

John couldn't resist teasing him a little. "I dunno, you might pass for a skinny Emeril..." He trailed off as Tauvo's pointed look got sharp enough to draw blood. "Sorry," he said, though he wasn't. "I was just wondering how plans were progressing. Have you spoken to Captain Crais?"

Tauvo relaxed and almost smiled. "Yes, I commed him several arns ago and explained our plan for addressing the Sykaran situation. He thinks I'm mad, of course."

John laughed at that. "You're his little brother; I'm sure he's thought so for years...cycles."

"Oh, very likely. But rarely with so much justification; the plan is insane. Nevertheless, he'll support it."

"Because he's your brother," John guessed.

Tauvo grimaced uncomfortably. "Probably. I attempted to explain the situation. I even used some of the arguments you used on me, though of course I couldn't throw dirt on him."

John snickered at the memory. He had to admit, that _had_ been pretty rude. Which was why, after the negotiations, when Tauvo had thrown a sudden roundhouse punch that laid him out on the ground, John had acknowledged that he'd deserved it.

"The captain certainly wasn't happy with the five cycle interruption in tannot shipments that we agreed to, but he admits that if we'd gone ahead and destroyed the operation here, it would have taken at least that long to locate and develop a new source."

"So, when do we head back to the convoy?" John asked, almost dreading the answer.

Tauvo sat back and steepled his fingers thoughtfully. John had a sudden flash of an alternate-universe Mr. Spock; Crais had the look, right down to the beard and the faint air of diabolical calculation. "We're finished here; the Sykarans have been supplied with food and fertilizer, enough to last approximately half a cycle. Those supplies we could not provide from the ship's stores were acquired at a commerce station nearby; the last transport returned and unloaded its cargo half an arn ago. Before we return to the carrier, however, there is a small diversion we need to make."

"Where to?"

"The transports we sent to the station reported something unusual there." With the touch of a button, Tauvo brought the holo-projector on his desktop to life. A smooth, golden shape coalesced in the air, causing John to inhale sharply.

"A Leviathan," he breathed. He'd not seen many, but this one looked strangely familiar. "Isn't that the one...?"

"Yes," Crais confirmed. "The energy signature matches the Leviathan which escaped from our custody the day you arrived."

"Moya," John recalled. The name stuck in his memory, in spite of his brief acquaintance. "What's she doing there?"

Tauvo shook his head. "We don't know. As far as the transport crews could determine, the ship is abandoned, derelict. Still alive, but perhaps injured. It's just drifting in space near the station."

"So we're going?"

"Yes. These prisoners escaped from me once. If there is any chance of recapturing them, or at the very least retrieving the ship, it's my duty to pursue it."

* * *

The first evening after Gilina was released from the infirmary, John met her in the ship's small Officer's Lounge for drinks. That seemed innocuous enough not to provoke suspicions.

They drank in uncomfortable silence for long moments before either one found the strength to speak. "Are you okay with this?" John finally asked. "Being back, I mean." They were far enough from the noisy crowds in the room to not be overheard.

She sighed. "I don't know. It was hard, deciding to leave. But once I'd made the choice, I started looking forward to it. I'd never given much thought to my future before. And now I have to give that all up again."

"Not 'give up,' Gilina. Never that. All we have to do is postpone for a while." He started to reach for her hand, then pulled back. "This, though-not being able to touch you-may just kill me," he grouched, only half in jest.

"Don't joke about that, John," Gilina pleaded. "If we aren't careful, that's exactly what could happen."

John took a deep breath and nodded. _C'mon, John,_ he thought sternly, _you're a well-bred Southern gentleman. Mind over libido, that's the ticket..._ "Damn, this is gonna be hard," he muttered, gazing forlornly at Gilina's now-untouchable face. He reached for his glass instead, to give his hand something useful to do.

Gilina got a very mischievous glint in her eye, though her expression remained studiously neutral. "I'm sure it already is," she said, so low that he could barely hear.

John choked on his drink, sputtering and coughing, trying not to laugh aloud. "Damn. And to think," he murmured, once he got his breath back, "when I first met you, I thought you were shy."

"When did you realize how wrong you were?" she asked.

"Oh, I think in the frag cannon bay on the _Zelbinion_. Either that, or maybe the night you-"

"John." Hushed whisper of warning, as a group of Prowler pilots walked past their table.

Growling in frustration once they were out of earshot, John scrubbed his hands across his face and up through his hair. "Frell. I'm sorry, 'Lina."

"For what?"

"Getting us dragged back here. If only I'd found a way to get us off that planet before the Peacekeepers arrived-"

"If you had, everyone down there would be dead now, John."

"Maybe," he admitted quietly. Sadly.

"Would you be happier if that had happened?" she asked.

"I guess not. It's just..." He trailed off.

"We'll manage, John. We'll think of something." The look in her eyes told him he'd just been kissed, if only in spirit. That would have to do, for the moment.

* * *

The commando squad moved through the darkened corridors in near-silence, allowing Aeryn to hear just how unusually quiet the Leviathan herself was. The air was stale and very cold, with a faint odor of decay lingering. The low, groaning rumbles of the ship's biomechanoid circulation were slow and regular, proving the ship still lived at least, but no other sounds reached her ears. There was no sign of DRDs anywhere, and they were usually a ubiquitous presence aboard these vessels. All in all, the ship felt much changed from the last time Aeryn had traversed these hallways, in search of the hangar bay and escape.

Normally, she would not have been sent on a field assignment such as this so soon after leaving the med bay, not without time for reconditioning. Lt. Crais, however, had felt her prior contact with this vessel and its inhabitants of sufficient value to waive those considerations.

Aeryn wasn't so sure. She'd been aboard this Leviathan for all of six arns, over three-quarters of a cycle ago, and had spent most of that time locked in a cell. But she didn't object, because part of her had wanted to come.

The door to the Pilot's den stood half-open when they arrived. Once inside, Lt. Crais approached the center console, while Aeryn and the rest of the squad hung back and watched for ambushes.

"Pilot?" Crais called out. There was no response. Even from this distance, Aeryn could see that the creature was either unconscious or sleeping. He was also missing one of his four arms. The amputated limb was only just starting to regenerate, still too tiny and weak to be useful.

Reaching over the control panels, Crais nudged the Pilot with the barrel of his pulse rifle and called out again. This time, the large protruding eyes flickered open.

"Wha'?" he mumbled. "Who's there?"

"Lieutenant Crais, Verstar Regiment," Tauvo stated mechanically.

The huge creature finally managed to focus on the figures before him, and drew back in alarm. "Peacekeepers."

"Yes, Pilot," Crais said patiently. "Tell us what happened here. Where are the prisoners?"

"I should tell you nothing," Pilot insisted, still groggy. "But it does not matter now. They are gone."

"What has happened to this ship? Why is it adrift?"

The Pilot's eyes closed in pain. "The crew came to this station in search of maps to their home worlds. There is a scientist here with vast cartographic information." A shudder rippled through the Pilot's body. "They traded one of my arms for a data crystal with their maps. When it arrived, however, there was too much information on it for Moya to process. She could access one map, but only by deleting the other two."

Crais almost stepped back at the barely-hidden venom in the Pilot's voice. Aeryn could see him stiffen even at a distance. He turned his head and looked again at the tiny regenerated arm dangling from its socket.

The worn voice continued. "They argued amongst themselves about whose map would be salvaged. In the end, Dominar Rygel tricked the others into a cell and deleted the maps to the Luxan and Delvian home worlds from the crystal. But when the remaining data was fed into Moya's data stores, it contained a worm program that erased her entire memory."

Crais paused; Aeryn felt a surge of pity for the Leviathan, who had lost everything she knew and then apparently been abandoned by her tiny crew.

"And the fugitives?" Crais asked, echoing her thoughts.

"I am not sure what happened to them. The shock to Moya's systems was so great that I lost consciousness for some time. When I awoke, I was unable to contact any of the DRDs, and the internal comms were down. All of Moya's systems were affected. Even my own connection with her has been compromised; nutrient flow has decreased to minimal levels, and my attempts to help her with this trauma have been ineffectual."

"So the prisoners are no longer aboard?" Crais persisted.

"I presume not," Pilot reported in a supercilious tone. "Given their usual temperaments, I am sure one or all of them would have come to complain about the failing environmentals by now."

"And how long ago did this happen?"

"I do not know," Pilot admitted. "With Moya's functions so crippled, I have no reliable way of measuring time. It has certainly been many solar days."

Crais turned away from the console abruptly, dismissing the Pilot without another word now that he was finished questioning him.

"Officer Sun, it seems your presence here was not required after all. I will take the team down to the station and search for the fugitives there. Due to your fitness status, you will remain aboard the Leviathan. Conduct a thorough search. If you locate any clues as to the whereabouts of the fugitives, you will contact me immediately."

"Yes, sir." Alone on a cold, deserted ship-not an assignment she relished.

"I will contact the Intruder and have a crew of techs sent over. You will see to it that they assess the condition of this vessel and determine its prospects for rehabilitation."

"Easily done, Lieutenant," she agreed more cheerfully. "I've become accustomed to herding techs around."

"Very good."

Within microts, the squad had disappeared through the door and down the corridor at a fast march. Their heavy boot steps echoed hollowly in the emptiness. Aeryn stood for a moment, listening to the sounds fade, and then turned to the Pilot.

"Is there anything I can do to help you or Moya before I begin my search?" she asked.

Pilot's eyes met hers, protruding forward in surprise. The huge head cocked to one side, considering. "I do not believe I have ever heard a Peacekeeper ask me such a thing."

Aeryn thought she ought to explain. "I was aboard Moya briefly, Pilot, just after she escaped. I was the Prowler pilot you dragged through starburst."

"I recall the incident, though I do not believe we were ever introduced."

"Any one of you-the prisoners, you, or even Moya herself-could have argued for killing me. I truly expected someone to try, out of revenge for their captivity. And yet I was not mistreated in any way. You treated me with honor, and so the least I can do is show some compassion in return."

"I thought Peacekeepers abhorred compassion. A sign of weakness."

"They do. I _did_. But I am learning to appreciate the hidden values of some things."

Pilot nodded. "I see," he said, though his tone indicated he was still puzzled. "Well, I thank you, Officer Sun, but there is little you alone can do. Once the techs arrive, however, their assistance would be appreciated."

Aeryn nodded and walked out of the den. As she began her assigned survey, she took a microt to contact the Intruder and request the addition of Gilina Renaez and John Crichton to the crew coming over. Neither one had much experience with biomechanoid technology, but she knew they could learn quickly. And they both had one advantage over the other techs: neither one would have any objections to taking their instructions from a Pilot.

By the time the techs arrived at the pressure hatchway, Aeryn had finished searching the cell levels, and had located the chambers used by the three fugitives. There were no clues as to their destinations; the departures appeared to have been abrupt and without planning. Most if not all of their possessions were still here, and from what she remembered of them, the Hynerian especially would not have abandoned his jewels except under extreme duress.

After setting the rest of the techs to work on the analysis Crais had requested, Aeryn introduced John and Gilina to Pilot. John seemed fascinated, as this was the most alien being he had so far encountered. He asked what had happened to the Pilot's arm. When Pilot explained the trade the fugitives had made for the maps, John's jaw dropped in shock.

Pilot waved his anger and concern away calmly. Moya was his priority; everything else was incidental. He asked them to go to Command and attempt to re-initialize some of her more basic functions from there, since Pilot's own controls were not working.

As they approached Command through what felt like metras of dark and silent corridors, the faint odor Aeryn had noted earlier grew stronger. Then the door swung open, and one of the mysteries of this abandoned ship was solved.

* * *

"Augh!" John cried in disgust as the foul stench assaulted his nose. But worse than the smell was what they could see as the door opened before them.

The last time he'd been here, herded from his module by a pissed-off yellow robot, he'd watched one of the aliens tear a console apart with his bare hands. From the looks of things, it appeared something similar had happened to the room's last occupant.

The Hynerian's throne sled had been smashed against a wall and now lay on the floor, broken in half. The shattered machine provided the best identification of the victim; the Hynerian himself had been torn to pieces. Green gore and dried blood marred every surface.

John swallowed convulsively against his sudden attack of nausea. "Wh-what happened here?" he asked.

Aeryn was surveying the scene dispassionately, noting details that John was doing his best not to look at too closely. "Luxan hyper-rage," she finally deduced with confidence. "The Hynerian must have provoked it, either when he erased the other two maps or when he crippled their only source of transportation. Perhaps the two incidents combined pushed the Luxan over the edge."

"Hyper-rage? Now that sounds ugly..."

"Even at their best, Luxans are prone to violent fits of temper," Aeryn explained. John recalled hanging by the throat from the tentacled alien's hand, and couldn't argue with that assessment. Aeryn continued, "It actually amazes me that he did not kill the Hynerian sooner; the relationship seemed strained even when we were aboard. When sufficiently provoked, however, a Luxan loses all self-control and enters a state of mindless violence. Only in such a state would he have done _this_ much damage to his victim."

"Shit," John breathed. "I'm sure glad I didn't end up stuck on this boat with _that_ kind of creature. I wouldn't have lasted a week. Living among Peacekeepers is no picnic, but at least they usually just knock me out when they get pissed at me."

"The Luxans are formidable warriors," Aeryn pointed out, as if defending the species' violent tendencies.

"Oh, I'm sure. So were the Berserkers. Not my idea of a pleasant next-door neighbor, though."

* * *

It was late in the shift by the time the techs reported to Aeryn that they were finished with their analyses, but needed to consult with Lt. Larell, the command carrier's Leviathan specialist, for a more complete assessment. She escorted them back to the Intruder, assuring them she would deliver their report, and their request, to Lt. Crais.

John and Gilina still hadn't finished with all of Pilot's requested tasks, so Aeryn left them behind to keep working. And if, in the course of their work, the two of them managed to find time to take advantage of their isolation and freedom from prying eyes, well...

Aeryn had to repress a smile. There would be few such chances once they returned to the carrier.

A query to the ship's computer showed that Crais' Marauder was just now returning, on fast approach to the docking bay. Wanting to get her report out of the way quickly, Aeryn went to meet him there.

She stood at parade rest near the treblin side bulkhead and watched as the returning Marauder swooped into the hangar bay and touched down. Nothing happened for nearly a hundred microts, which was odd. Typically, the crew would have disembarked almost immediately.

Then a team of med techs hurried into the hangar and boarded the Marauder, looking serious.

_Injuries?_ Aeryn hadn't expected Crais to find anything down on the station, and truth to tell, she didn't think he had expected anything either. It was simply a duty he had to fulfill so he could say he'd done his best.

Two commandos finally stumbled from the Marauder, the usual swagger of the Marauder crews totally absent. Both were liberally splattered with dried blood, though neither seemed injured. They staggered a few steps, then one sank to the floor and just sat with a look of shock and horror on his face. The other, probably the pilot officer, knelt down at his side. Her movements were more controlled but her expression no less haunted.

Heavy steps behind her caused Aeryn to turn, just in time to see Lt. Reljik, Crais' second-in-command for this mission, march through the hatchway.

"What the frell is going on?" he shouted to no one in particular. Receiving no response, he strode over to the two commandos and snapped, "On your feet, soldiers! Review stance!"

The female officer gazed vaguely up at Reljik, as if only partially aware of his voice, but then the sharp commands seemed to penetrate her confusion. She staggered to her feet, dragging her companion up with her, and managed to get them both into a rough approximation of the proper stance.

Aeryn hadn't encountered Reljik often in her cycles aboard the carrier, but knew his reputation quite well. As such, she expected him to berate the two further for the sloppy discipline, but he simply barked, "Report, soldier!"

The officer swallowed once, cleared her throat, then spoke in a voice still trembling with exhaustion and stress. "Sir. Our squad landed on the station with no resistance and began a standard pairs search pattern."

She recounted the details of a fruitless search, culminating in a distress call from Lt. Crais. Rushing to his aid, they arrived to find Crais' partner, Officer Hedron, severely wounded, and Crais himself gone. They determined through interrogation of Hedron and other witnesses that Lt. Crais had been captured by a local scientist named NamTar. Hedron claimed the creature had thrown him across the room without ever touching him.

"Sounds like his wits were addled by his injuries," Reljik scoffed.

"Yes sir, that's what we thought as well." The pilot looked more alert now as she continued. "It took us some time to track this NamTar to his laboratory. We broke in and found Lt. Crais unconscious, strapped into some kind of device. When we attempted to retrieve him, the creature NamTar appeared and simply waved its arm. Crewman Tivell flew into a wall. The impact broke her neck."

Reljik gestured for the woman to go on.

"Pulse fire was only marginally effective; the creature took a number of direct hits without falling, and seemed to regenerate almost instantly. All it did was make him angry; he waved his arm again, this time at Crewman Arna." The officer stopped speaking, as if the memory was not one she wished to revisit. Her fellow commando made a gagging sound.

Reljik was relentless, however. "Crewman Arna?" he prompted.

She swallowed, looking nauseated. "He was torn apart, sir. The creature never laid a hand on him, and he shredded into bits in front of our eyes."

Aeryn drew back half a step. They were Peacekeepers, both she and this traumatized officer, trained from birth to face violence and death without flinching. But the sheer brutal power of the creature she described was beyond anything Aeryn had ever come up against.

Reljik was older, and the veteran of a dozen horrific battles. He had the scars to prove it. He didn't lighten up on the officer one whit. "And then?"

"Sub-officer Norest managed to shoot the creature in the head while it was distracted, and that seemed to disable him for a time. Objects still flew around the room, but the power seemed unfocused. We pulled Lt. Crais out of the chair and retreated back to the Marauder."

"And Crais? You summoned a med team, so I assume he was injured."

The officer looked extremely uncomfortable. "Sir, he regained consciousness soon after reaching the Marauder, but he was acting...oddly. And we started to see signs of..." She trailed off.

"Of what?" Reljik asked impatiently.

"Of...contamination, sir."

At those words, Reljik did blanch. The med team appeared a moment later, carrying Lt. Crais, who was once again unconscious. His entire body, save his head, had been draped discretely in a thermal sheet.

Reljik moved to intercept them, heading directly for the still form on the gurney. One of the techs made a gesture as if to impede him, but Reljik simply shoved the man aside and yanked the covering from Lt. Crais' body.

A collective gasp went up all around as people caught sight of what the sheet had hidden. Heads turned and eyes were averted by the more squeamish.

Aeryn felt a shiver of disgust crawl up her own spine, but fought the impulse to look away. One entire side of Crais' torso was...changed. The skin had grown smooth and slick, turning a sickly purplish hue. His arm, too, was changing, the fingers fusing together with the same purplish growth. And just below the rib cage, his body had sprouted...something. Small and jointed, it almost looked like...

Aeryn bit her lip as she recognized what she was seeing. The tiny appendage on Crais' side was a perfect match for the regenerating arm of the Leviathan's Pilot. The limb that had been severed as payment for a scientist on the station, who had then double-crossed his customers with a worthless and treacherous data crystal.

Chances were good that this NamTar the officer spoke of was the same scientist. He'd done something with that Pilot's DNA, and he'd infected Crais with the results.

A sudden movement pulled her eyes away from her commanding officer, just in time to see Lt. Reljik grab a pulse rifle from one of the commandos and advance on Crais.

_Oh frell._ Realizing what he was about to do, Aeryn broke away from the motionless stance that had kept her all but invisible to this point. "Lieutenant, wait!" she called out.

Reljik turned towards her, eyes narrowed and angry. "Are you questioning the actions of a superior officer, soldier?"

Aeryn couldn't help noticing that the rifle had turned with him and was now pointed unerringly at her midsection. "No sir," she said carefully. "I simply wished to remind the lieutenant of the possible consequences of this action."

The barrel of the rifle lowered a fraction. "What 'consequences'? He's been irreversibly contaminated. Immediate retirement is standard procedure."

"While I admire your unfailing grasp of procedure, sir," Aeryn said with a trace of sarcasm, "what you have perhaps not considered is the identity of the officer you were about to exercise it on."

"It's Lt. Crais. What the frell does that have to do with anything?"

"He is _Captain_ Crais' _brother_. That relationship may mean nothing to you, Lt. Reljik, but trust me, it means a great deal to _him_. Do you truly wish to explain to the captain that you executed his brother without even attempting to discover if the contamination was reversible?"

Aeryn watched as the conundrum worked its way through Reljik's brain. He had been a lieutenant for most of his career, and would never rise any higher; one of those adequate, undistinguished officers who could quote you a regulation to support any action he wanted to take, but lacked the capacity for original thinking. The disgust he felt at Lt. Crais' condition was nearly palpable; he desperately wanted to kill him, to wipe away the stain in a manner that was both thorough and violent. In a situation like this, however, where the desired and 'proper' action would get him in trouble, he had trouble seeing alternatives.

"Don't you at least think it would be wise to consult with Captain Crais first?" she suggested, holding out an easy escape.

"Yes. Yes, of course. Take Lt. Crais to the med bay and put him in isolation. I will contact the captain. And there is to be no discussion of this outside this room, is that clear?"

Everyone nodded, murmuring, "Yes sir." Aeryn knew, as they all did-as probably even Reljik did-that orders or no, the story would make its way to every member of the crew before the next shift started.

* * *

John poked his head inside the dank and depressing cell that passed for a medical isolation ward. Tauvo lay on a cot, one leg hanging off at an awkward angle as if he'd been dumped in a hurry.

Glancing back down the hall, John could see the med techs flitting nervously about their work, staying as far from this room as they could. None of them would even look this direction if they could help it. Dropping Crais like a hot potato was probably exactly what they'd done. The looks on the faces, the whispers in the corridors-everyone was treating their commander like a leper.

John ducked into the room, shaking his head. Gently, carefully, he rearranged the unconscious patient into a more comfortable position. Tauvo was shivering violently. John got a blanket, and as he began pulling it over Tauvo's shoulders, he glanced up to see the man's bleary eyes staring back at him.

"Hey, bro!" John greeted jovially. Seeing Tauvo wince at the sound, he continued in a much softer voice. "How're you feelin'?"

"H-how does it look like I'm f-feeling, human?" Tauvo replied petulantly through chattering teeth.

John cocked his head, thinking about how to respond, and opted for brutal honesty. "Frankly, sir, you look like crap."

Tauvo almost smiled. "That sounds...accurate. What the frell happened?"

John explained the events down on the station that Aeryn had relayed to him, including her speculations about the Pilot's missing arm and the alien scientist.

Tauvo listened to John's synopsis quietly, then pulled the blanket down off his body and looked at himself for the first time. His face remained impassive, but John could see the faint lines of stress around his eyes as the struggle to maintain that outer calm grew more difficult.

"Why...am I still alive?" he finally asked with forced calm.

"Because Aeryn put the fear of God into your XO; he's gone off to comm your brother for instructions."

Tauvo closed his eyes, wincing. Whether the pain was physical or emotional, John couldn't tell. "Bialar...will try to protect me, but...he can do nothing. Peacekeepers won't tolerate such contamination... Can barely stand to look...at myself."

Tauvo curled up then, overcome by a spasm of pain, and John placed a hand on his shoulder. He could have chided Tauvo for his Sebacean chauvinism, but didn't have the heart. Having his body slowly mutate into another species would freak John out, too. "We'll fix it," he assured Crais. "The captain will come up with something-"

_"Crichton,"_ called a voice suddenly through his comms.

"Yeah, Aeryn?" he replied without thinking, then winced. "I mean, yes Officer Sun?" They'd been back among the Peacekeepers for over a week, but he still hadn't managed to break the overly-familiar habit of addressing her by name.

_"Where are you?"_

"Med bay, isolation ward. Visiting Crais. Why?"

_"Good. Get him up and out of there."_

"What? Why? He's not really in any condition to be wandering around right now."

_"I don't like the sound of some of the talk I'm hearing. The tension on this ship is rising as the stories spread and get more insane. It could break into full blown paranoia at any microt."_

"Can't you get security to put a guard on him or something, protect him? He's their commanding officer!"

_"Security isn't responding, and neither is Lt. Reljik. I think he knows, and is planning to let it happen. It would solve his dilemma nicely, and he wouldn't get blamed for it. He probably hasn't even called the captain, hoping his 'problem' will simply disappear."_

John had Tauvo's arm over his shoulder and was wrestling the man to his feet before Aeryn finished speaking. Mob mentality, Peacekeeper style. Nothing more dangerous than a bunch of frightened people crowded into a confined space. Aeryn was right; they needed to get Tauvo away before he got lynched.

He looked down and frowned. The lightweight clothes the med techs provided their patients were orders of magnitude better than the standard Earth-issue hospital gowns John remembered with loathing, but they still did little to conceal the changes overtaking Tauvo's body.

"You want me to march him through the corridors looking like this?" he asked.

There was a pause. _Hadn't thought of that, had you, Ms. Sun?_

_"Lt. Crais?"_ Aeryn called.

"I was wondering...when you were going to get around to...asking for my input...Officer Sun," he gasped out. The tone was stern, but John could see the faint glimmer of amusement through the pain.

_"I apologize for my abruptness, sir, but I felt we were pressed for time. Are you able?"_

"With Crichton's assistance...yes. Your recommendation?" Tauvo was focusing all his attention on the external situation, John saw, probably in a desperate effort to _not_ think about his own condition.

_"I suggest you direct him to the maintenance tunnels, sir. They are less populated, and you'll likely only encounter techs. I judge them a lesser risk. I will meet you at the docking port to the Leviathan."_

"You're planning to hide him on Moya?" John asked.

_"It's probably the last place they'd think to look, and she's an independent vessel, outside their control. Besides-"_

There was a muffled sound of angry shouting, from outside the med bay. John cut off Aeryn's explanation, saying, "We've got trouble, Aeryn, gotta run. Which way, Crais?"

* * *

"No."

"Dammit, Aeryn, we've got to do _something_. He's getting worse, and no one else is lifting a finger to help. His own crew has given up on him, but I won't."

"And what do you think you can do, Crichton? You're a tech-no, not even that-and you've never even fired a weapon!"

"Fine, I'm an inferior being with no redeeming qualities. But I have two hands and a brain, and I can not just sit around and watch a man suffer like this." He clenched his hands and looked down at the sleeping Sebacean. The massive physical changes Tauvo was going through were putting incredible stress on his system, and from what little he'd said during his lucid periods, the mental and psychological changes were becoming equally traumatic as his thought processes blazed out of control.

Two Pilot arms sprouted from Tauvo's chest, each now half the length of his original limbs. His own arms were taking on the same appearance, with his hands now fully converted into three-fingered claws.

"What is he to you that you're so determined to risk getting injured or killed in this insane quest?" Aeryn asked.

John sighed. For all the changes he'd seen in her lately, Aeryn was still very much a product of her upbringing. Instead of answering directly, he threw questions back at her. "What were you to me, Aeryn, when I pulled you out of that fire on the _Zelbinion_? What were you when you were paralyzed and I goaded you into fighting back? What were you when that wormhole appeared and I took you to my home world rather than abandon you?"

Aeryn just shook her head, but he could see her mind working, analyzing.

"You were a shipmate, Aeryn, a comrade. You were someone I had come to respect. Someone I had even started to consider a friend. Well, the same is true of Lt. Crais here. I hope I'd try to help _anyone_ who was suffering like he is, but Tauvo is someone I'd like to call friend someday. I have to help him."

"Fine. Have you given any thought to _how_ we're going to convince a being as powerful as this NamTar to give us a cure for whatever he's done?"

"I'm hoping to avoid him, actually. Tauvo said there was someone else in the lab while he was there, a woman who seemed to be NamTar's assistant. I want to find _her_. With a bit of persuasion, maybe we can convince her to help us. Just let me do the talking."

"And when that doesn't work?" she asked doubtfully.

"O ye of little faith," John scoffed. "Then we go to Plan B."

"Which is?"

"We improvise."

* * *

Aeryn could feel John's eyes tracking her every movement as she piloted the transport pod down to the station. It made her teeth itch. To distract him, she pulled out the extra pulse pistol she'd packed in her bag and tossed it to him.

"What's this?" he asked, surprised.

"It's a gun."

Crichton snorted. "I know that, Aeryn. But why? I'm not a soldier; I didn't think you'd trust me with a weapon."

"I don't. It's a bad idea. Not to mention completely against regulations. But going into a situation like this, you may need it."

"Aeryn, as you so tactfully pointed out, I've never fired one of these before. Can you give me the fifteen-microt tutorial?"

"You point it at someone and pull the trigger, Crichton. How hard is that to comprehend?"

"Give me a break, Officer Sun, this is my first ray-gun. I just don't want to accidentally blow my hand off or something. And it might be a good idea if I knew how to reload it."

"It's not a 'rae-jun', Crichton, it's a standard-issue pulse pistol. I suppose you might accidentally overload the pulse chamber, but that's a rare mistake, even for a first-year cadet. Just don't keep pressure on the trigger for more than three microts without firing. As for reloading, I doubt that will be necessary. The chakan oil cartridge is full, and the weapon gets approximately six hundred shots on a cartridge."

"Wow. And I thought the six shooters in old westerns went a long time without reloading."

Aeryn ignored that nonsensical statement with the ease of long practice. _One of these days,_ she thought, _I'll sit this alien down and make him explain everything he's ever said that made no sense._

After they touched down, finding NamTar's assistant turned out to be easier than Aeryn expected. They made their way to the refreshment house where Tauvo had been ambushed. Dozens of locals were there, huddled in small groups. One of them matched the description Crais had given.

Aeryn froze in the doorway, still holding the curtain that divided the bar from the corridor outside. Every single being in the room showed signs of...she didn't know what to call it. Mutation? Mutilation? It looked like a Peacekeeper propaganda vid on the evils of genetic contamination, the horrors of mixing species. And yet these were not hybrids, not natural products of recombination, of that she was certain. They looked like...Lt. Crais, only different.

A pall of fear, dulled by weariness but still pervasive, hung over the crowd. NamTar, she thought. Crais is not his first victim. He must have been preying on the residents of this station for a long time.

NamTar's assistant was not the worst looking of the malformed creatures here, but she was close. One hand was grossly enlarged, probably ten times its original size, and her skull was lumpy and asymmetrical.

Crichton approached her, projecting his best friendly, non-threatening attitude. Aeryn stood nearby, watching his back and keeping an eye out for trouble. Both of them were wearing long cloaks to disguise their uniforms, but as two pure-looking Sebaceans (or close enough) in this crowd of twisted modifications, she doubted they were fooling anybody.

"Hey there," she heard Crichton say by way of introduction. "Could we have a few words with you?"

The woman twitched at the contact when the human touched her shoulder. She turned sharply, her reflexes heightened by long-standing paranoia. With one look at Crichton's Sebacean features, then at Aeryn standing not far behind, the malformed woman cringed away. "I can't... Stay away from me... I did nothing to that man," she babbled half-incoherently, backing away towards the far wall.

"Hey," John called, holding out his hand in a quelling gesture. "It's okay. We're not here to harm you, we just want to talk."

"Talk? Peacekeepers don't talk. Just go away, back to your ship, before he finds out you're here. He's angry; I've never seen him so enraged. If he sees you, I don't know what he'll do."

"Thanks for the warning, but we're not leaving just yet. And the best way to prove you weren't a part of what this NamTar did to our friend would be to help us."

"I can't! He'd know, he always knows! Please, you have to leave, before it's too-"

There was a rustle of fabric from the doorway, and a hush fell over the room. Before Aeryn could turn, however, she felt an incredibly strong force pull her backward, and a large, clawed hand close around her throat. Her instincts and training all urged her to fight back, but her body was not responding to her brain's signals. She was paralyzed, and this time, it wasn't just her legs.

* * *

John saw the alien woman's eyes widen in shock and turned to follow her gaze, just in time to see a huge, Satanic-looking figure grasp Aeryn around the throat. Her eyes were panicked, but for some reason she wasn't fighting back.

He took a step towards her captor, reaching awkwardly for the pistol, only to find himself flying through the air at a wave of the creature's free hand. The impact of his fall was softened by the crowd of frightened patrons he crashed into. The resulting tangle of limbs and bodies slowed down his attempts to regain his feet.

"Please do not attempt to harm me again, Peacekeeper," the creature said in an oily, patronizing voice. "The consequences to your comrade would be...unfortunate."

John could see small rivulets of blood on Aeryn's neck where NamTar's claws-he assumed this had to be NamTar-had already broken the skin. He got to his feet slowly, keeping his hand well away from the pistol still strapped to his thigh.

"You have caused me some slight inconvenience," NamTar continued, the steel behind the voice belying the implied triviality of the offense. "The one you stole from me showed promise of success, where all my past experiments met only with failure. Return him to me, and I will release the woman unharmed. Refuse, and I will simply repeat the experiment with my newest...volunteer." He nodded at Aeryn's dark head, still firmly in his grip.

"Kornata," he addressed the cowering figure behind John. "See that he retrieves my prize within an arn, and return to the laboratory with it undamaged. The transformation should be nearing completion by then."

John was stunned. The situation had gone from bad to impossible in fourteen seconds flat. For a few heartbeats, his mind just gibbered and whirled in useless circles. Then he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and everything snapped back into focus. The woman, Kornata, was edging towards the door, preparing to make a break for it.

Time for Plan B.

Like a striking viper, John's hand shot out and grabbed Kornata by the arm. "Hell no, lady, you're not goin' anywhere." Turning, he addressed NamTar, spinning a line of his finest B.S. "Fine. Crais is pretty much a loss anyway, scheduled for immediate execution. I'll make the trade. Better make it two arns, though; he's in Peacekeeper custody, and it could take me a bit of time to bust him out."

NamTar nodded. "Very well, two arns, but no longer. Kornata will direct you to my laboratory." With that, the huge creature turned and ducked through the door, still dragging Aeryn by the throat as she stumbled to keep up.

John turned to Kornata, drawing the pistol Aeryn had given him and trying to grip it like he knew what he was doing. Using the memory of every Clint Eastwood film he'd ever seen, he tried to put some menace into his voice. "I was asking nicely before, but not this time. You've got two choices, lady. You either help me help my friends, or I turn you over to the Peacekeepers up there and tell them you were the one who contaminated their commanding officer. I don't even want to _think_ about what they'll do to you."

The woman seemed to deflate, all resistance melting out of her. "I wish I _could_ help, but I don't know what you think I can do. He's just too powerful. If I'm not back in two arns with the Peacekeeper, he'll just use your friend."

"Fine, time's a-wasting, let's go." Dragging her from the refreshment house without releasing her arm or re-holstering the pistol, he started back for the transport pod. "What the hell is the point of this 'experiment', anyway?" he asked as they walked.

"He wants to isolate the Pilot species' multi-tasking abilities. He's been trying, ever since he got his hands on the DNA, but none of the other subjects transformed successfully. He's desperate, which is why he risked taking that Sebacean."

"But why? What the hell is so important that he'd risk pissing off an entire Peacekeeper warship?"

"Because it's an ability he doesn't possess yet. He's grafted the best traits of a thousand different species onto himself, enhancing his size and intelligence and adding telekinetic and regenerative capabilities. No one on this station has escaped him; we've all been used to isolate the traits he wanted."

"And no one's tried to stop him?" John was aghast, unable to believe that one being could hold such power of fear over a population of hundreds.

"At first he just used our laboratory creatures for his work, and we did not see the danger. By the time we realized, he had grown too powerful. Anyone who challenged him died horribly."

"Damn. He's turned himself into a frickin' Superman, and we don't have any kryptonite."

Kornata turned to him and narrowed her eyes in confusion. "Krebdonide? What is that?"

John shook his head. "Sorry, just a story from my home world. A man with awesome powers, essentially invulnerable, but he had a single weakness. If he was exposed to a material called kryptonite, he lost his powers. It could even kill him. What?"

Kornata's expression had brightened at a sudden thought or inspiration while he was talking. It was the same expression he'd seen on his own face in the mirror, years before, when the first equations for the Farscape effect burst into his mind's eye while he was shaving.

"It might work," she whispered to herself, not really even seeing him anymore.

"What? What might work?" He shook her lightly to reclaim her attention.

"NamTar is a composite, just like his experimental subjects, which means his genetic structure is inherently unstable. If I could find the right formula, I could destabilize the construct and revert him to his original form. It would be your 'kryptonite'."

John nodded, hope stirring for the first time since Aeryn had been grabbed. He rushed across the spaceport tarmac to the transport pod, dragging Kornata along behind. "Can you do it in two arns? The Leviathan had a medical lab set up..."

"By the Delvian priest, yes; she's told me about her pharmacopoeia. I'm not certain I could do it so quickly, and certainly not alone. Is the Pilot still able to assist?"

John pushed Kornata up the steps and into the pod, clambering up behind her. "I'm not sure. Moya was pretty well brain-wiped by NamTar's crystal, and Pilot's just barely holding it together. I helped out a bit yesterday, restoring the comms and rebooting the DRDs, but he still doesn't have access to much of the ship. We'll ask, though; can't hurt. And maybe I can get Gilina to give you a hand. She's a tech, though biology and genetics aren't her specialty."

Sliding into the driver's seat, John stared at the unfamiliar instruments. He'd watched Aeryn fly it down, but could he remember enough? Tentatively, he reached out to grasp the controls.

* * *

Flying back up to Moya had taken twice as long as the trip down. John had grown more and more frustrated with each wrong turn and thruster misfire, begrudging every microt lost to his clumsy flying, and nearly flubbing the landing completely in his impatience. The pod landed hard, gouging a deep scar into the hangar bay's deck plating and coming within inches of impacting the back wall when he tried to come in too fast. _Ouch,_ was all he could think, wincing in sympathy for the sentient ship. _Pilot's not going to be happy with me for that one. Wish I'd thought to fix the docking web before we left._

He was right about that, at least; Pilot was in a very bad mood when they arrived in the den, scolding John roundly for causing the ship such pain. When he finally calmed down enough to listen to Kornata's requests for help, Pilot was reluctant to help a Peacekeeper for any reason. But when John pointed out that they were actually trying to destroy the creature who had crippled Moya, suddenly Pilot was all eagerness.

The next two arns were a frenzy of desperate activity. Kornata took over the maintenance bay laboratory, with Gilina and Pilot assisting. When they needed data that Moya's data spools could no longer provide, Gilina volunteered to sneak back aboard the Intruder and tap into the computer grid.

John worried that Lt. Reljik might take some action to thwart them; there was no way the crew on the Intruder could remain unaware that the Leviathan was the source of some activity, with the departure and subsequent limping return of the transport pod, nor that their commanding officer, a soldier, and a tech were missing from the duty roster. But according to Gilina, the crew had descended into a haze of nervous confusion, having received no orders or direction from their new commander. Reljik was probably just sulking in his quarters, John figured, trying to figure out what was going on and how he was going to explain all this to Captain Crais without losing his position. Or his head. But whatever the reasons, John was just grateful that the Great God Murphy had chosen to take a powder, just this once.

The hardest task, from John's perspective at least, was explaining to a suffering and frightened Lt. Crais that he would have to suffer and fear for a while longer. If they showed up at NamTar's lab with Tauvo already cured, the creature would know something was up and they'd never get near him.

Crais, however, didn't want to hear any of it. He pleaded, explained how his mind was running in a thousand directions at once, how he felt himself drowning in the sea of overlapping and conflicting thoughts. He even tried ordering John to give him the serum as soon as Kornata had it ready.

John just snorted humorlessly at that. "Bro, I'm sorry, but I'm not one of your tin soldiers, and even if I were, you're in a poor position to give orders. Aeryn risked herself to get you the help you needed, and I am not going to abandon her, any more than I was willing to abandon you. We'll get you the serum as soon as we can, but not until everyone is safe and NamTar is no longer a threat.

"If this works, you're welcome to charge me with insubordination after we get you back in command of your ship."

Tauvo glared blearily at John from beneath the heavy, purplish brow ridges that had formed over his eyes. "And when it doesn't work?" he asked, his enunciation suffering due to the changed arrangement of teeth and tongue. "NamTar believes you to be a Peacekeeper. He will _expect_ treachery."

John shrugged nonchalantly, projecting his best attitude of fatalistic confidence. "If it doesn't work, we'll probably all be dead, and you can say 'I told you so' on the flip side. But don't worry about it, we'll be fine.

"I've got a plan."

* * *

For Aeryn Sun, the two arns of waiting dragged on interminably. Chained to a wall in the dark and fetid alcove where NamTar kept his failed experiments, she couldn't help but look around at the pathetic, distorted creatures and wonder if she was looking at her own fate.

Most of her companions here in the shadows were so grossly deformed that she couldn't even tell what species they had originally belonged to. They whimpered-and occasionally screamed-almost constantly in their pain and misery.

One voice however, from deeper in the alcove, was different. It chanted softly, the words inaudible but the tone serene. It was a calming voice, which seemed to warm the chill and provide comfort.

Aeryn listened, all the while wondering. Would John Crichton accede to NamTar's demand and trade Lt. Crais for her freedom? He'd said so, but those were only words. Once he gave it some thought, would he save the higher-ranked officer and write her off as a loss, as any right-thinking Peacekeeper should?

He wasn't a Peacekeeper, of that she was well aware. The knowledge, however, was not enough to tell her which option he would choose in this situation. If it were Gilina sitting here, she was fairly sure his emotional attachment to the tech would lead him to make the trade. But her own position in the human's strange hierarchy of importance was less clear, as was Lt. Crais'. Which one would he choose to save, at the expense of the other?

She tugged once again to on the manacles that held her, trying to break them, or loosen their moorings. The best thing for everyone would be if she could get free on her own, save Crichton from having to make that decision at all. But the chains held firmly.

The chanting from the corner faded away to silence. Aeryn's eyes had now sufficiently adjusted to the dimness to make out a bipedal figure sitting there, one wrist shackled to the wall. The head was hairless, though it showed some small protrusions spread evenly over the surface. She couldn't see clearly enough to determine the race, nor the extent of NamTar's modification, though this figure at least did not have the multiple arms and greatly enlarged head of the others infected with the Pilot DNA.

The head lifted, and she could sense unseen eyes peering back at her. "Who is there?" asked a feminine voice.

"Officer Aeryn Sun," she replied, by rote, though she chose to skip the recitation of her company and regimental affiliations.

"Peacekeeper," the woman in the corner said, chin lifting in surprise.

"Who are you?" Aeryn asked in return.

"I am Pa'u Zotah Zhaan."

"Ah. The Delvian prisoner. From Moya." The shape looked right, except for the small bumps on her head. In the darkness, she couldn't discern any details.

"You know Moya?"

"I was aboard her less than an arn ago," Aeryn confirmed. "How did you end up here?"

"When NamTar's crystal wiped Moya's memory, we were enraged. D'Argo unleashed his anger on Rygel, but I knew the true source of the evil was here, on this station. I came to seek revenge, but the creature was too powerful. He tried to use me, injected me with Pilot's DNA. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the attempt to meld genetic material from flora and fauna species proved less than successful. He keeps me here, along with all his other surviving failures, to study. I offer them what comfort I can, as is my duty as a priest. But please, child, how are Moya and Pilot?"

Aeryn shook her head. "Not well, from what we were able to determine. Most of the Leviathan's systems were shut down or blown out by the crystal's data wipe. The techs weren't terribly optimistic about the prospects for rehabilitation." She caught herself gazing at the crimson drape over the entrance to the lab. Would Crichton come? Should she even want him to, if it meant the betrayal of her superior?

"I should never have left them," said the Delvian quietly. "My duty was to aid, not avenge them. I realize that now, though at the time my anger overwhelmed me."

"What happened to the Luxan?" Aeryn asked, curious.

"I don't know," Zhaan replied wistfully. "I imagine D'Argo felt some remorse when he woke from his hyper-rage and realized what he'd done. Perhaps he took one of Moya's transport pods and fled; I can only hope he did not run afoul of NamTar like I did."

"We've seen no sign of him," Aeryn assured her. She glanced at the curtain again.

"Are you waiting for someone, child?" the priest asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know," she admitted.

Time passed and conversation died. Small talk wasn't really appealing when you were being held prisoner by a sadistic alien megalomaniac, waiting for rescue that would likely never come. Hezmana, Crichton probably hadn't even made it off the station; he didn't know how to fly a transport pod.

After what seemed an eternity, but was probably closer to the two arns specified, NamTar's gangling figure ducked gracefully through the curtain and into the alcove. Several of the creatures chained along the walls let out panicked squeals, voicing their terror at his presence.

"It seems, my dear," NamTar said cheerfully, "that your companion has chosen to abandon you."

Aeryn felt her stomach drop as hope faded. Crichton had chosen Crais. Or perhaps the choice had been taken from him by someone else, like Reljik. She would probably never know.

"It is a nuisance to have to repeat the procedure, but you should feel honored. You are going to participate in a grand experiment, aid in the progression of-"

A loud voice rang out in the room behind him. "Hey, Dr. Mengele! Sorry I'm late, traffic was a bitch, but I brought you your lab rat."

_Crichton._

NamTar flew through the curtain almost before Crichton finished speaking. Aeryn strained to hear, wishing she could see what was going on.

"You were nearly too late, Peacekeeper," NamTar said without preamble. "Perhaps I should keep both of my prizes, as the requirements were not adhered to."

"I think not," Crichton drawled, imitating a Peacekeeper accent.

"Kornata, the final stage serum is nearly complete. Your assistance is required."

"Where's Officer Sun?" Crichton's voice broke in.

NamTar must have simply pointed, because a moment later Crichton blew into the alcove in a rush, the curtain flying wildly in his wake. The sight of so many captive wretches gave him pause for a few microts, but then he seemed to shake it off and knelt down beside her. "You okay, Aeryn?" he asked.

"Fine, Crichton. You should not have made the trade. Lieutenant Crais is far more valuable-"

"Shh," he hissed, placing a finger on her lips. "Don't worry so much. I've got a plan."

Oh frell. The human had a plan. They were all dead.

* * *

John saw the bleak expression cross Aeryn's face and protested. "Hey, do not give me that look!"

"What look?"

"The 'poor deficient human' look, the one that says nothing I thought of could possibly work. Kornata's got a serum that'll revert everyone back to their original forms...including NamTar."

"Human?" said a voice tentatively from the dark corner behind him. "I remember that word. The Sebacean who wasn't."

John turned, peering into the gloom but unable to see anything. "Who's that?"

Aeryn said, "You remember Zhaan, the Delvian prisoner from Moya?"

"The blue lady?"

A soft chuckle wafted out of the darkness. "I am surprised that you remember me."

"It's not a day I'm likely to forget," John pointed out. "I remember you as the one person I met aboard Moya who didn't hit me, spit on me, or knock me unconscious. Thank you."

There was a thoughtful silence, and then, "You say you have a cure for what has been done? You can restore everyone to their former selves?"

John chewed on his lower lip nervously. "We hope so. First we have to get rid of NamTar, though."

"If there is any way I can be of assistance-"

"Nah," John replied. "You just sit tight. We'll get it done." He fumbled at Aeryn's shackles for a moment, before a whispered suggestion led him to the release mechanism.

Grabbing her elbow, he ducked back out into the main lab, to find NamTar circling around Crais like a vulture. Tauvo was standing, as best he could, maintaining the most rigid emotional control. Out of the corner of his eye, John could see Kornata bustling about with the beakers and syringes, staying quiet and inconspicuous. John's job was to see to it that she remain unnoticed.

"If you are planning to disturb my work," NamTar said casually, not looking up from his examination, "I must warn you that I do not have time to waste in pointless bickering. I suggest you take what you have won and go."

John raised his hands in innocent protest. "Hey, I'm not gonna give you any trouble; I've got what I came for, and everybody's happy. Even Lt. Reljik's satisfied: he can truthfully say he made a good effort to reverse his CO's contamination, and now he gets to stay in command and doesn't have to deal with _this_.

"I'm just kind of curious. As something of a scientist myself, I've been trying to figure out what the point of all this is. What's the point of making a Pilot hybrid? What does it get you?"

"Why, nothing less than the next step of the journey of intelligent life towards perfection," NamTar gloated. "By isolating the Pilot's multitasking capabilities, I will experience a level of mental processing far beyond any other race."

John tilted his head in feigned curiosity; he already knew most of this from talking to Kornata, but didn't want NamTar to know he'd learned so much. When he'd been thinking of how to keep NamTar distracted, his first impulse had been to attack him on moral grounds, keep him on the defensive for his experimentation on sentient beings. But with the visions of the false Earth still fresh in his mind, recalling how the humans constructed from his own memories had treated the first alien to fall into their clutches, he sadly realized he didn't have much of a moral high ground to stand on.

So, he decided, if you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bull.

"'Perfection'? Scientifically speaking, that's a meaningless term," he pointed out in a challenging tone.

"'Meaningless'?" NamTar exclaimed, looking affronted.

_Okay, Johnnie-boy,_ he thought, _you got what you were after, his full and undivided attention. Now what are you going to do with it?_ "Sure," he said, as if it was obvious. "It's a completely subjective concept, the definition depending entirely on the desires of the individual. For example, when you say you're striving for perfection, what exactly are you referring to?"

"Strength. Intelligence. Power."

"That's it? As I said, totally subjective. What about wisdom? Purpose? Compassion? Loyalty? Love?"

NamTar reared back like a shying horse. "You consider such drivel important?" he asked.

"Sure," John said, then dismissed that topic with a wave of his hand. "Those are just examples. Some societies value honor above everything, while others stress inner peace and enlightenment as the ultimate achievement. My point is that 'perfection', like 'infinity', is an unrealistic goal. You can never reach it, because you can always imagine something bigger or better.

"Besides," he continued, pacing around the alien scientist and drawing his eyes along with him, "even if you ultimately manage to reach something you consider 'perfection', what then? What would you do with it once you had it?"

This question seemed to give the alien pause; he did not offer any immediate reply.

Unfortunately, Kornata chose that quiet moment to sneak up behind NamTar with a syringe. Whether it was an unconscious flicker of his eye, or simply NamTar's preternatural hearing that detected the woman's nervous respiration, John would never know. One moment everything was going according to plan, and the next NamTar raised a clawed hand, still looking at John, and Kornata was flying across the lab into a wall. The syringe flew out of her hand and skittered away.

"You sought to trick me, Peacekeeper? You thought, perhaps, that I did not expect this?" The voice was both smooth and deadly cold.

John was stunned; his careful planning had fallen to pieces so quickly. He reached to draw the pulse pistol that still rode on his thigh, but only got as far as touching the release before his muscles stopped responding and he found himself frozen in place.

"Your puny weapon is no threat to me, but you might damage important equipment. This I cannot allow."

Aeryn, though she had no knowledge of the details of John's plan, apparently sensed the importance of Kornata's syringe and dove for it. Unfortunately, she too succumbed to NamTar's psychic paralysis in mid-lunge, and ended up crashing to the floor in a painful-sounding tumble. Her hand struck the syringe and sent it skidding even further across the room until it disappeared under the crimson drapery and into the darkness of the dungeon alcove.

NamTar padded slowly around the room, surveying his four immobile captives. Two lay sprawled on the floor like discarded rag dolls, while the others stood frozen. "Pitiful specimens," he scoffed. "I was willing to let you leave in peace, in return for my prize. But since you have so kindly 'volunteered,' I believe I can find a use for two more Sebaceans in my research."

"Damn it, NamTar," John gritted out through clenched teeth, "do you really thing you can take on an entire Peacekeeper warship? They'll blow you and your precious research into micro meteors!"

"I highly doubt that," the scientist replied, dismissing the possibility with a wave of his clawed hand. He was still circling the room like a hungry vulture. "An attack on an unarmed, civilian commerce station such as this, here in the Uncharted Territories so far from Peacekeeper jurisdiction, would attract all sorts of undue attention to their activities in this region. A few crewmen here and there would probably rank as acceptable losses to maintain their secrecy and access to these areas."

"Maybe you'd be right, Einstein," John replied, more confidently, "if we were just your average bunch of grots. But one of your 'acceptable losses' is the brother of a command carrier captain. Captain Crais finds out you've been messing with his baby brother, and he'll be out here to kick your ass so-"

"RRAAARRRGGHHGRRR!"

The saurian roar of pain and surprise rang in the small space like a gunshot, cutting off John's threats. He couldn't see what had caused the outcry, since NamTar was behind him and he couldn't turn his head.

As the roar reached its peak, however, the induced catalepsy holding all of them in place disappeared like a switch being flipped. John stumbled, catching himself on a table as his body leapt forward, and turned around.

The great and terrible creature that had been NamTar was writhing on the floor, flesh melting and morphing faster than the eye could track, his roars of pain and betrayal becoming screams, and then high-pitched animal wails. In less than a dozen microts, the once-towering figure had shrunk into a tiny, rodent-like creature about the size of a groundhog, with long, gangling legs, huddled in the pile of metal and leather that had been the scientist's clothing.

John stumbled across the room to look down at this pathetic beast. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aeryn and Kornata getting slowly to their feet, and even Tauvo was shuffling over for a better look.

"What...? How...?" John fumbled for the right question, then spotted the answer. Sprawled on the floor, her body half-concealed by the crimson drape across the doorway, was the partially transformed figure of the Delvian woman John remembered meeting his first day here. Instead of the gorgeous blue he remembered, her skin was mottled with purple, looking like the worst case of bruising he'd ever seen. He scalp was erupting into a dozen small protrusions that looked like...flower buds? She gazed up at him with preternatural calm and opened her clenched left hand to reveal Kornata's syringe. Her right hand, which had been shackled to the wall inside, was shrunken and withered.

"You got him?" John asked, unnecessarily.

"Yes. You preoccupied him with thoughts of attack from above, and instead his demise came from below. I injected him in the foot as he walked by. May the Goddess forgive me, I even enjoyed it."

John looked at Aeryn, Tauvo, and Kornata, and then broke into relieved laughter.

Gasping for breath, he exclaimed, "I love it when a plan comes together!"

Aeryn and Tauvo glanced at each other, then at him. Then they just shook their heads, identical expressions of resignation on their faces, in spite of Tauvo's half-Pilot features.

"Whaaat?"

* * *

Two arns later, Aeryn stood by Tauvo Crais' side as the last hints of his transformation faded away, leaving behind a purely Sebacean, handsome physique once again.

Across the room, Crichton and Kornata were still doling out serum to the last of the station's hundreds of residents who had suffered at the hands of NamTar's scientific ambitions. NamTar himself, or the tiny creature he had now become, was huddled pathetically inside a cage in the corner, ignored and forgotten.

With the grace of age and inner peace, the Delvian woman, blue once again, with her legs restored to function and her self-shriveled hand healing slowly, ducked through the curtain from NamTar's dungeon, now empty of all but the unlucky few. Zhaan had insisted on blessing the final journey for those who did not survive the cure, whose original forms were too delicate or too old to live without their transformations. Crichton had expressed some guilt and regret at the losses, but Zhaan had pointed out that their suffering, at least, was over.

Gathering her tattered blue robes, with her shroud of dignity intact, the Delvian priest approached Lt. Crais. Crichton had found food for the half-starved inmates of the dungeon, and the hunger-induced buds were fading from her scalp. Her blue eyes showed no fear in facing this Peacekeeper before her.

"I presume," she said in her serene voice, "that you will be wanting to take me back into custody."

Crais paused, looking at her with an odd expression. After several microts, he replied, "Without your actions, we would all be prisoners of NamTar, or dead. If you should choose to leave now, I am in no condition to pursue you. I need never even mention that you were here in any of my reports."

The blue woman gave a quintessential Delvian gesture, both open hands skimming across her head and ending up clasped together between her breasts. "Compassion from a Peacekeeper; I would never have expected to see such a thing in my lifetime. Perhaps, indeed, I will not regret my decision after all. Officer Sun here tells me that the Leviathan Moya and her Pilot will be returned to Peacekeeper custody, and that you will attempt to rehabilitate them."

"That is true," Crais acknowledged.

"I offer to stay and become your prisoner once again, to complete my sentence for the crime I committed. In return, however, I would ask that I not be transferred to Terron Raa as previously scheduled. Allow me to remain aboard Moya. I am partly responsible for her current condition, and I wish to make amends by rendering what assistance I may with my skills as a healer. I can ease her pain, if nothing else."

"You would return willingly to Peacekeeper custody?" Crais voiced the question, but it echoed Aeryn's own thoughts. She had few illusions about the treatment of Peacekeeper prisoners; the job of guarding such criminals belonged to the lowest of the grots, those who were unfit for any other task. They tended to unleash their frustrations and cruelty on the aliens they were set to watch over, a practice that, while not officially sanctioned, was not discouraged either. For this woman to abandon her hard-won freedom and choose to return to that was almost incomprehensible.

"If I can help heal the gentle souls of Moya and Pilot, who were our friends and protectors throughout the trials of the past cycle, it will be my honor."

"If that is your wish," Crais nodded, "I will arrange it."

The Delvian nodded and turned away to join Crichton and Kornata. NamTar's erstwhile lab assistant had responded well to her own serum; her right hand was once again a normal size, and her features had evened out into the stocky, white-eyed, nearly Sebacean form of her native race.

Aeryn turned to Crais, looking down at the man curiously. "Sir, may I ask a question?"

He gazed up at her with a slight smile. "Officer Sun, you just helped save my life. I believe we can dispense with some of the formalities, at least in private. What do you wish to know?"

"Why did you offer to let the Delvian escape? Her recapture will ensure a positive reception for you back on the Intruder; without it, Reljik might have succeeded in claiming you were still contaminated."

"Possibly, though I think you rather underestimate my ability to put that drannit Reljik in his place. As for the Delvian...I have my own reasons for offering to release her. Just as I have my reasons for not reporting a conversation I overheard recently, about injuries and attempted desertion not mentioned in a certain officer's mission report."

It took a microt for the import of that statement to sink in. Then she recalled her conversation with Crichton just a few arns before, while they were both standing over a man they had assumed was asleep or unconscious. "You heard that?"

Crais smiled. "Yes. Don't worry, Officer Sun; I try not to make a habit of betraying people who have saved my life. It might discourage others from saving it in the future. From what little I overheard, it sounds as if you, Crichton, and Renaez had a much more interesting adventure these past few monens than your reports indicated. And there is far more to this 'human' than I had originally suspected. I'd like to hear the tale sometime, from all three of you. Off the record, of course."

Aeryn looked over at Crichton, who happened at that moment to be looking in their direction. She smiled. "There certainly is more to Crichton than meets the eye. I'm sure he'd be happy to tell you the story."


	8. Spies Like Us

_"That man...he is an imposter." - Scorpius  
_

 

"Tauvo, how many times do I have to tell you? You can _not_ shoot the quarterback!"

Aeryn sighed. Ten solar days ago, Crichton had made a comment to Tauvo about the lack of competitive sports among the Peacekeepers. The resulting argument had ultimately led to a comprehensive and detailed overview of a human exercise called 'foot ball', Crais actually encouraging Crichton's dissertations with active curiosity and questions.

They'd even gone so far as to program a standard holographic tactical simulator with the conditions and proper numbers of troops to mimic the stylized military exercise. Now, off-duty and sharing a table in the officers' lounge, Aeryn was witnessing their continuing attempts to 'score touchdowns.' If they kept it up, she was going to need another drink.

Tauvo muttered something in his native colonial dialect, the words obscure enough to defy translation. Odd...Sebacean root languages, even ones with centuries of divergence, rarely bypassed the translator microbes. Perhaps it was a phrase borrowed from an alien tongue; even languages could suffer from contamination.

"Don't give me that," Crichton snapped good-naturedly, pointing an accusing finger at Crais. "Whatever that was. This is strictly hand-to-hand, Tauvo, no weapons allowed. The challenge is to keep the quarterback from advancing the ball without killing him. Just...just pretend your CO wants him alive for questioning."

Tauvo nodded reluctantly and went back to staring at the display. From the opposite side of the table, Gilina was looking at it, too. "John," she asked, "do your people really use this type of training?"

"Well," John admitted, "this really isn't considered a martial training exercise on my world; that was just the easiest way to explain it to Mr. Super-soldier here. We're not nearly as focused on war and military action on my planet, at least most of the time. This is a sport. A game, played for entertainment. But many of the skills and abilities you look for in your soldiers-strategy, skill, speed, the will to win-are also key to being a good player. Kids where I come from look up to the guys who excel at this sport, just like kids here idolize great war heroes."

Gilina glanced over at Aeryn, who responded with a noncommittal shrug and a raised eyebrow. She, too, found Crichton and Crais' fascination with this 'game' incomprehensible. Perhaps it was a male thing.

"Lt. Crais?" came a disembodied female voice.

His posture unconsciously straightening to attention, Crais tapped his comms and replied, "Yes, Lt. Teeg?"

"Please locate the alien Crichton and report with him to the Captain's office."

"Acknowledged," Crais said shortly, then glanced at his companions with a rueful grimace. "Well," he said, relaxing back into his chair, "where do you think I should start looking for this Crichton character?"

"Very funny, bro," the human replied with a snort. He shut down the holo-imager and tucked it away. "Wonder what Captain Bigwig wants with me?"

The two men took their leave quickly, heading for the double doors and their appointment with the captain. Gilina, typically, remembered a task she'd left incomplete and departed as well.

Aeryn smiled slightly at the tech's retreat. She and Tauvo had rank and status enough to ignore some minor points of propriety. Crichton, essentially an outsider and with no official status at all, was oblivious, and would probably not care if he knew. But Gilina Renaez, Peacekeeper tech, born and raised in service, was feeling the full weight of all the unwritten rules she was violating just sitting in the company of officers. Without Crichton's presence to encourage her, she would always find an excuse to be elsewhere.

Left suddenly alone, Aeryn tried to decide whether to get herself another drink or just head for her bunk. She was about to opt for sleep when a familiar voice spoke from behind her.

"Hello, stranger. Want some company?"

Aeryn turned, smiling. Behind her stood Officer Yal Henta, her friend and comrade since they'd been in Prowler Attack School together at sixteen cycles. "Join me, please," she said eagerly.

The blonde-haired pilot sat down and pushed one of the two glasses she'd been holding across the table to Aeryn. "I've heard some very unlikely stories about your last assignment," she began. "More excitement than you'd expect for a tech mission."

"The stories are probably all true," Aeryn said, smirking.

"It would have been nice to hear those stories from you, Sun. You've been back aboard for over three weekens," Henta pointed out, "and yet I've barely seen you in all that time."

Aeryn looked down at her hands, folded together on the cold metal table. "I've been busy. Marauder training. Now that I'm not flying Prowlers anymore, there's fewer opportunities for us to run into each other."

"That's not the only reason," Henta argued, with a gesture indicating the previous occupants of the table. "People are starting to talk about the company you're keeping these days. Lt. Crais, I can understand; he's good looking and very well-connected. A good relationship to cultivate, if he's noticed you. Possibly even a good frell, though I know you're careful about such things. But the techs? And one of them not even a Peacekeeper, but some lesser species the captain adopted?"

This time, Aeryn met Henta's gaze unflinchingly. Unlike her inadvertent dissociation from old friends, she felt neither regret nor shame for her current choice of companions. "Do you recall the old saying, Henta, about shared battle forging allies out of adversaries? I spent over five monens in the Uncharted Territories, and for much of that time, my only crew were Crichton and Renaez. We survived battle with Sheyang scavengers, and the two of them saved my life more than once, both then and later. We had to work together to survive, and I know them better now than I knew the members of my Prowler unit."

She could see that Henta was still having trouble accepting a social relationship with a tech or an alien, no matter what the excuse.

"Think about it this way, Henta. We soldiers are supposed to exemplify all the Peacekeeper virtues: discipline, loyalty, courage, strength, perseverance. But many of us don't quite live up to those ideals. In spite of what High Command might think, we're not all perfect soldiers.

"But the same misperceptions apply to techs. We look down on them as weaker, less able than we are. We dismiss them as useless. With some of them, our perceptions are true, but not all of them. Some, like Renaez, possess qualities of bravery and fortitude that any soldier would be proud to claim. And Crichton, for all his ignorance and primitive background, has a warrior spirit and a strong will. He saved my life on a number of occasions, when most others would have left me to die. If I choose to seek the company of such people after all we shared together, it is no one's business by my own."

"Hey," Henta protested, raising her hands in mock surrender. "Power down the cannons there, Sun. I'm not your enemy. I won't say any more about it."

Aeryn could tell Henta wasn't really convinced, just humoring her. It took more than mere words to change opinions forged by a lifetime of propaganda. She should know.

* * *

John stood facing Captain Crais' desk, trying not to fidget. He'd forgotten how big this room was; this was the first time he'd been back since the day he'd arrived on board, nearly a year before.

Tauvo had come with him only as far as the door. When it opened, he'd shared one significant look with his brother, nodded, and simply walked away, leaving John standing confused and directionless. Obviously whatever was going on was something Tauvo already knew about. John tried to settle his nerves with the assurance that it couldn't be too bad or Tauvo would have said something. But the tension remained because, despite their growing friendship, John knew Tauvo's first loyalties were still to his brother and the Peacekeepers-though John couldn't swear which of the two came first.

"So, Crichton," the captain said smoothly, leaning back in his seat and folding his hands across his lap. "You have been back with us for over three weekens. How is your project proceeding with the data you acquired at Dam-Ba-Da?"

_All this just to ask about the wormhole research?  
_  
"We've made some progress," he began cautiously. "The data we gathered at least confirms that what I traveled through _was_ a wormhole. Some combination of the energy created by my slingshot maneuver and a solar flare triggered its formation. There was something missing at Dam-Ba-Da, though; what we made there wasn't fully formed, just the bare beginnings. As to what was lacking? No clue."

"How long until you resolve that problem?" Captain Crais asked, with the infuriating attitude of a man used to issuing orders and having things happen immediately.

John called up the calm, elementary-school tone he'd used on every clueless, impatient IASA bureaucrat he'd ever had to schmooze for funding. "Scientific breakthroughs can't be ordered or scheduled, Captain. It takes time, meticulous trial and error, and far more data than we've acquired thus far. One of my planet's greatest inventors once said that success was one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration. It's going to take a lot of work, and I can't give you a time table. The answer is there somewhere, though. I can almost smell it."

John expected the captain to get upset at the news, but he just nodded thoughtfully. Then he changed the subject, abruptly.

"Tauvo has told me of your efforts on his behalf, in great detail. I have not had the chance until now to properly...thank you."

"Um...it was my pleasure, sir," John fumbled uncertainly. "I respect your brother, and couldn't just abandon him."

"He has also nearly managed to convince me that your strategy for the tannot production on Sykar will prove to be a great improvement over the traditional approach. Tauvo asked that I find some way to reward you for all the work you have done since you arrived, not the least of which was saving his life."

"That's really not necessary-" John objected.

"I am the captain here, Crichton," Crais interrupted brusquely. "It is my purview to decide what is and is not necessary."

"Um...okay."

"As you have probably learned," Crais continued, "Peacekeeper service is an honor reserved for Sebaceans, by law and long tradition. On rare occasions, however, there have been exceptions made to the purity regulations, for non-Sebaceans whose loyalty is proven and whose contributions, past or future, are deemed significant.

"After long discussion with Tauvo, and review of reports filed by Officer Sun and others, I petitioned High Command with a request. In recognition of your actions in preserving the lives of two Peacekeeper officers, and the potential value of your work, High Command just today has granted my request. I am hereby authorized to offer you, John Crichton, a Peacekeeper commission as a Crewman Specialist."

John gaped for a moment, speechless. This was, by far, the last thing he had ever expected. It took a few microts to wrap his brain around the concept, and even then he could only manage to address a small point, not the whole issue at once.

"'Specialist'? I thought I had the rank structure around here figured out, but that's a new one. Is it a tech grade?"

"It's not surprising that you haven't heard of it; there are very few present on this carrier. It is not a tech position; a Peacekeeper soldier who feels his greatest strengths lie in the intellectual rather than physical arena can apply to become a specialist rather than join a combat unit.

"It's not a popular choice, as specialists are viewed as second-class soldiers by the others. In addition, since they see much less combat action, their rate of promotion tends to lag far behind their peers. But for those with little interest in command, it can be a satisfying career path, or so Lt. Larell tells me. Your capabilities as a pilot, and your sessions with Sub-Officer Abljak, give you the minimum qualifications for the rank of crewman. As a specialist, you would not be taking part in any military action except in an emergency, and you could continue your work on wormholes."

"So you're offering to make me a Peacekeeper soldier, a non-combat one? Black uniform, pulse pistol, the whole nine yards?"

"Yes."

"Captain," he finally replied. "This is kind of sudden. Not so long ago, you had me walking around the ship under armed guard. Now you want me walking around armed?"

"As a tech, you would not have the authority to lead the wormhole project," Crais said, as if that explained everything.

John shook his head, dragging himself away from the minutiae and back to the big picture. "Look, Captain," he said, "I understand that you feel this is a great honor you are doing me. But I don't believe I can accept."

Crais' face darkened. "And why not?"

"My goal is the same as it was when I arrived: to find a way back to my home. I can't make long-term commitments here which would tie me down. Besides, I'm really not cut out for the military."

Crais scowled, but John refused to flinch. He had absolutely no desire to join up with this paranoid, hyper-regimented organization. Dealing with U.S. Navy had been bad enough, for the brief time he'd had to put up with it before they shipped his butt off to IASA.

"Tauvo said you might feel that way." Crais' expression took on a calculating air. "It's a pity, really," he said, trying to sound casual. "I've had a unique opportunity for you cross my desk, but without that commission I suppose we'll have to let it pass by."

John knew-just knew-that he was going to regret asking this. "What kind of 'opportunity'?"

Crais looked smug, as if he'd just scored a victory and John didn't know it yet. "I have received a request for the immediate transfer of six techs to a high security gammak base. There are rumors that the facility is pursuing wormhole technology. I had hoped to be able to send you as part of the tech contingent, undercover, to see if they might have the information you need to achieve success."

* * *

John sat on the tiny bunk of the Marauder's crew quarters, fidgeting self-consciously with the insignia that now decorated his tech-issue jumpsuit. The markings proclaimed him to be a Peacekeeper tech, tramco support division, maintenance provost. His shiny new ident chip, hanging by a chain around his neck, supposedly corroborated that small subterfuge instead of showing his rank of crewman specialist, though it still contained his true genetic profile. He missed having his dad's puzzle ring hanging there, where he could feel the connection close to his heart. But it was too risky, having such an alien artifact displayed openly, so the ring was hidden away in an inside pocket.

He could feel Gilina's eyes on him from across the room, though he was never quick enough to catch her staring.

"Gilina," he finally said, shattering the silence, "is something bothering you?"

She denied it, very unconvincingly, and refused to meet his eyes.

"'Lina, I wish you'd talk to me about it, whatever it is. Maybe there's something I can do. It's not like you to be so quiet."

She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again without making a sound. The process repeated several times as she searched for the right words, before she finally blurted out, "Are you planning to stay now?"

"What?" John asked, confused. Stay where? The gammak base?

"John, ever since I've known you, you've said you wanted to go home, to get away from the Peacekeepers where you were reviled and despised simply for not being Sebacean. You even convinced me that I could find a place out there with you, a better life away from all this.

"But now they've accepted you, offered you a place among them with authority and power. And you agreed to it, took the oath and put on the uniform. Are you now planning to remain here with them?"

John moved over and fell to his knees in front of the woman he'd grown to love. "Gilina, nothing has changed. I still plan to go home, and I still want you to come with me. I only took Crais' offer for one reason: this assignment. It was the only way to get access to this base we're headed for. They may have data there on wormholes, data we haven't had access to yet. It may be just what I need to break the impasse we're struggling with. But the thing that made me finally decide to accept was learning you were already on the list to go. I didn't want you to go without me."

"But what about the oath you took?"

"I thought about that, and I turned Crais down at first for that very reason. But then I realized: you had already committed to deserting the Peacekeepers whenever we got the opportunity. What difference does it make if we're _both_ deserting, instead of just one of us? If it helps any, I had my fingers crossed the whole time I was taking that oath." He grinned, trying to make light of his moral quandary.

Gilina let out a breath, sounding like she'd been holding it for days. He hands gripped John's tightly and her eyes squeezed shut, emotions she'd been repressing bursting to the surface.

"You were really worried about this, weren't you?" John asked.

She nodded, still cutting off the circulation to his fingers. "I want us to go, as soon as we can."

"That's still the plan, but what's with the sudden urgency?"

Gilina jumped to her feet and retreated to a far corner of the tiny room, arms wrapped tightly about her midsection, leaving John still crouched by her bunk. "You know those medical exams we had to get before we left?" she said.

John nodded. Not like he could forget; they'd given him the full treatment, probed and sampled parts he hadn't even known he possessed. As a non-Sebacean, there was no baseline for the medtechs to work from, so they had to record everything for his new Peacekeeper records. It had been worse than the exam they'd done the day he arrived.

"The patient is not supposed to be told any of the results of their exam; it keeps them from getting distracted from their duties by health concerns. Any abnormalities are reported to their commanding officer, instead, who then makes decisions about treatment or change of duty assignments. With a fellow tech, however, the medtechs will sometimes violate that rule if there is something they think we would want to know."

"My god, Gilina, is something wrong? Are you sick?"

"No, John," she said, hugging herself tighter. "I'm pregnant."

Having sprung to his feet in his flurry of concern, John now sat back down hard on the bunk. "Pr..."

"I would like to have this child, John."

"Preg..."

"And if we stay, they will never allow it to live."

"P-Pregnant?" John finally managed, his brain having frozen up at that single concept. "B-But, how is that possible?"

"John," Gilina admonished, a faint smile breaking through her strained expression for a microt, "I didn't expect to have to explain _this_ process to you."

"But we're totally different species...appearances aside, we're not even _related_ species. My people evolved somewhere on the other side of the universe."

Gilina's smile collapsed as if it had never been. "I'm sorry this doesn't please you, but I still-"

"Doesn't pl-" John leaped to his feet and pulled the trembling woman into a tight embrace. "'Lina, baby, I'm sorry. I _am_ pleased. I'm delirious. I'm ecstatic!" He pulled back and gazed into her eyes, willing her to believe it. "I'm just a little confused, that's all. I never even dreamed this was possible."

"Sebacean DNA is compatible with a number of species. It's a matter of great concern to High Command; why do you think they have so many purity regulations and contamination protocols?"

John hadn't thought of it like that before, but he supposed it made sense. After all, the deep South, in the years before desegregation and civil rights, wouldn't have felt the need to pass so many anti-miscegenation laws if the races hadn't been _able_ to interbreed. There'd have been no point.

"It's really their own fault, of course," Gilina scoffed.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, not them personally, but their predecessors. Peacekeepers have been around, in one form or another, for thousands of cycles, so long that their origins have been forgotten. Throughout the centuries, there have been constant efforts to improve the breed, to create a better soldier, the perfect Peacekeeper. Early genetic modifications were done at the whim of local regimental commanders, with little or no coordination, nor regard for how it would influence compatibility except with the basic Sebacean stock."

As if finding comfort in a dry, scientific topic, Gilina gradually relaxed as she spoke. "Over time, the changes progressed so far that the altered genotypes from one regiment could no longer interbreed with those who had received different mutations. Even worse, there was far more interaction with civilian colonists in those days, so the changes-and the compatibility problems-spread into the general population over the course of centuries. Eventually, it became a serious concern, as more and more people were unable to procreate with their chosen mates. Methods were found to determine compatibility prior to choosing a partner, but many chose to mate for love, regardless of reproductive viability, and the population started to decline.

"By about two thousand cycles ago, the problem was growing severe. The Peacekeepers could no longer replace the large numbers of soldiers lost in battle with internal breeding and voluntary recruitment alone. That's when mass conscription of children from Sebacean colony worlds began."

"Oh, I'm sure that went over well," John commented sarcastically. "Stealing children from people who were already having trouble with a shrinking population."

"You have no idea," Gilina replied, shaking her head. "There was nearly a full-blown revolution, which only the military might of the Peacekeepers was able to put down. And even so, at least one faction managed to break away and relocate their colonies to the Uncharted Territories, away from the Peacekeepers.

"Anyway," she continued, realizing she had wandered away from her original topic, "the Peacekeeper leadership of the time chose to address the compatibility problem by modifying the very composition of our DNA. Their scientists somehow made the molecular structure more malleable, increasing the range of compatibility." She laced her fingers together tightly, then slowly loosened the knot to demonstrate.

"The unexpected side-effect of that was that not only were we Peacekeepers-and eventually Sebaceans as a whole-able to breed with each other freely once again, but we also became compatible with other races. There had always been a small incidence of interspecies relationships in the border areas, particularly with races like the Luxans, with whom we shared some commonalities of culture and values. But until that modification, children from such pairings were exceedingly rare.

"And that's why it's possible, John."

It took a second for John to recall where this history lesson had started, and his face broke into a wide grin. "A baby! We're going to have- When are you due? How far along are you?"

She shook her head. "It doesn't work like that." She proceeded to explain the concept of stasis pregnancy, and the seven year window in which the stasis could be released.

"So, wait," John said, mind whirling with all these new concepts, "that means you could have been pregnant a long time, doesn't it? Are you sure the baby is..." He couldn't finish the sentence.

"Yours? Yes, John, I'm sure. I had the medtech go back to the results of my last physical, a cycle and a half ago. I wasn't pregnant then, and you are the only one I've been with since."

John's grin, if anything, got even wider this time. Inside his mind, he was doing a wild happy-dance, but outside, he struggled to regain his concentration. "You were saying you wanted to leave the Peacekeepers right away, because of this."

"Yes," Gilina said, sighing in frustration. "They may have waived the purity regulations for you, John, but they will never allow a half-breed child to come to term, much less grow up among them. If this child is going to survive, we need to leave before they have a chance to gene-test it."

"You said it takes a surgeon to release the stasis?" John found himself staring at Gilina's abdomen, as though he could see the new life there through sheer force of will.

"Well, a surgeon with a syringe containing a catalyst. If I can forge a request to the base medical facility, I can get that catalyst and administer it myself. If we're going to leave, John, this base we're going to may be our best opportunity." Gilina rubbed her hands along her thighs nervously.

"Crais said it was some kind of ultra-high security thing...you sure it wouldn't be easier to wait until we get back?"

"No, John, the base is perfect. The security is focused on keeping people _out_. If we can steal a ship-"

"It'll have to be a Marauder; that's the only kind we both know how to fly," John interjected.

"-a Marauder, then-I can program a blind spot in their sensors and they won't be able to track us. There won't be many ships available for pursuit, and the base itself is stationary. They'll report us, and someone will be sent to hunt us down, but for just a couple of techs they won't try too hard. By the time they get started looking, we should be long gone."

"You really think we can do it?" John whispered hopefully.

"Assuming there's a ship available that we can get to..." Gilina bit her lip, thinking it through. "We'll need time to stock it with supplies...to give me a chance to get the catalyst. I think we could leave four or five solar days after we arrive on the base."

"I love you, you know that?"

Gilina reached up and kissed him in response, no words necessary.

* * *

"Thanks for the lift, Officer Sun," John called, waving jauntily at their pilot as he and the other techs disembarked onto the gammak base.

"I will miss our conversations, Crichton," she replied. "And I'm sure Lt. Crais will miss playing your stupid game with you. We'll welcome your return when your work here is finished. Until then, good luck."

"Yeah, Aeryn, thanks," John replied. He'd miss them both, and wished he could say goodbye, but he couldn't risk revealing his and Gilina's plans to go AWOL, even to their former co-conspirator. "You have a nice trip back, okay?"

"It will be very quiet, having the ship to myself."

"It'll give you time to catch up on your reading," John teased. "Or practice all that tech stuff Gilina was showing you on the trip out."

She gave him a good-humored glare, but didn't rise to the bait. "Be well, John Crichton," Aeryn said, holding out her hand for the human gesture he'd taught her.

He clasped it firmly. "Fly safe."

John climbed down out of the Marauder and joined the other five techs from Crais' carrier, all of them waiting for someone to arrive and process them in.

Looking around, he could already see that this place would never be mistaken for anything but a Peacekeeper facility. Standard industrial aesthetic, the only decorations the red and black insignia along the walls. It was perhaps a bit dingier than the carrier, and the air contained a faintly chemical smell, like petroleum.

They waited for nearly an arn after Aeryn took off before a security officer showed up. He scanned their ident chips perfunctorily, had them stick their hands in the genetic verification machine, and assigned them quarters. John's semi-spurious ident chip held up as promised, and the gene scanner didn't seem to notice he wasn't quite the same as the others.

Settling into his quarters took less than thirty microts; techs weren't issued much in the way of personal possessions, and none of his few things from Earth had come with him, for safety reasons. His first duty cycle would begin in less than an arn; after that, he and Gilina would get to work.

They had it all planned out. During their duty shifts, he and Gilina would perform the tasks they were assigned. Even though they were planning to leave soon, John still wanted to learn everything he could, so he'd be keeping an eye open for any wormhole information that might be lying about at the same time. Somewhere on this rock might be the one piece of data he needed to solve the puzzle and get himself-and his new family-home.

In their off-duty hours, once Gilina found them an appropriate ship, they would work quietly to prepare for a covert departure. Their greatest hope of success lay in Gilina's unparalleled skill at hacking into PK control systems, to create false requisitions and forge work orders. It was one of her more subversive hobbies, but one she'd never used in quite this way before.

Here in the privacy of his assigned quarters, John could allow himself to smile at Gilina's recent revelation of pregnancy, to _feel_ in a way he couldn't risk in public. It was joy, and anticipation, and fear-what his father would have called 'rattlers'. It was buying the ring for Alex, walking down the gangway for his first shuttle mission, or watching the sunrise on the morning before the _Farscape_ test. A child-his child-was a dream that, until he'd heard the words from Gilina's mouth, he hadn't realized how much he wanted. The news redoubled his worries about keeping Gilina safe when he got back to Earth, but it would also be the one thing that would make this whole nightmare-getting shot through the wormhole, all the struggle and homesickness, the pain his disappearance must have caused his family-worth it in the end.

* * *

Lying on his back, staring up at the tangle of wires and circuits in the underside of the data console, John waited for his work partner to tell him if the latest patch was holding.

This was just their second day, and John was already glad he and Gilina weren't planning on sticking around long. The tension on this base was oppressive, in everyone from the lowest tech up to the Commander himself. It was like everyone was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The two of them had been incredibly lucky so far; Gilina found the perfect ship for their needs almost immediately: a Marauder transport long overdue for a major engine overhaul, sitting unused in a dusty corner of the hangar bay. The repairs had been delayed and rescheduled a dozen times as other projects were given higher priority. Gilina had tweaked the duty roster last night and had assigned herself the task, which she anticipated would take her less than two days.

Tonight, they would begin the quiet process of refueling and restocking the ship for a long journey, being careful not to attract undue attention. Once they were ready, Gilina would program the blind spot, requisition the catalyst from medical, and they'd slip away in the night.

John was startled out of his reverie when a sudden, dead silence fell over the room, stilling the voices of a dozen techs in an instant. From his cramped position under the consoles, he couldn't see the source, but the few faces he could see were frozen in quiet terror as if a dangerous animal had wandered in and no one wanted to attract its attention. Taking the hint, John stayed where he was and remained quiet.

A soft, deep voice broke the silence, from somewhere near the door. "Report," it said. "What progress?"

The officer in charge of the lab, Lieutenant Xhorel -a specialist, John had learned, feeling some slight amusement at finally meeting one only after _becoming_ one-replied, but his voice was too low and tentative to make out the words.

Whatever the response, however, it obviously failed to please his superior. John could feel the slow, heavy tread as the officer began a slow circuit of the room. "Unacceptable, Lieutenant," said the voice.

Black booted feet strode along the aisle past John's face. He was surprised to note the highly polished leather extending all the way up the figure's legs. A microt later, he sucked in a shocked breath as he caught a glimpse of the man's head and face through a crack between the consoles. The black leather covered his entire body and most of his head, leaving only a portion of the face visible. And that face...

John felt a chill of dread. It wasn't Sebacean. It was alien, menacing, reminding John strongly of Boris Karloff's characters in _Phantom of the Opera_ and _Frankenstein_ -white as a corpse and twice as ugly.

The creature was speaking as he circled the room. "I expect results," it said in a cultured, sinister voice. "If you cannot provide them, Lieutenant, I shall have to find someone who _can_. I do not tolerate failure."

Xhorel babbled reassurances and promises of redoubled efforts. Apparently satisfied, or at least placated, the creature turned and left.

As the techs relaxed from their stiff postures and began to talk amongst themselves again, John tried to remember how to breathe. "Khall?" he called softly to his work partner. The dark-haired tech crouched down and bent to look under the console.

"What the frell was that?" John whispered.

Khall swallowed convulsively. "Scorpius," he whispered nervously, eyes darting around the room as if the specter would return at the very mention of his name. "He's in charge of everything around here. They say even Commander Javio is afraid of him."

"But _what_ is he?" John persisted. "That was no Sebacean!" Under the circumstances, John couldn't be sure if the disgust in his voice was entirely feigned, as so many of his responses had to be, for the sake of his role as a provincial PK tech.

"No one's sure," Khall admitted. "Some say he's part Scarran, others think he's a demon, that he can read our thoughts and see our deepest fears. All I know is he's punished or executed a dozen officers and techs since I've been here."

"What do you slijnots think you're doing?!" shouted Lt. Xhorel, appearing suddenly at Khall's shoulder. "Chattering like a five-headed trelkez! You heard Scorpius; back to work, or I'll have you all up on report!"

The officer was trying to be stern and threatening, but he just ended up sounding utterly terrified. Even so, everyone quickly went back to what they'd been doing before the chilling interruption.

_Scorpius_ , John thought with a shudder. _Boy, am I glad we're leaving soon_.

* * *

On the evening of their fourth day, John was nearly dancing around in the confined space of Gilina's quarters, talking a blue streak. Gilina, for her part, was unable to get a word in edgewise and just sat, watching John with a bemused expression.

"They were equations, 'Lina-wormhole equations-they had to be!" John was babbling. "I only got a glimpse, just a few seconds before Lieutenant Tight-ass wiped the display, but I recognized a few of the descriptors. It's there, they really are working on wormhole theory! I just need to get a better look-"

"John."

"-obviously they haven't got it all figured out yet, either, but-"

"John."

John stumbled to a halt, both physically and verbally, as Gilina's voice finally penetrated his excitement. "Hmm?" he replied, distracted.

"We're ready."

"Ready?" Still caught up in his own thoughts, John wasn't parsing Gilina's information too clearly.

"Ready to go," she clarified. "The Marauder is fixed and stocked with enough supplies to get us to the nearest inhabited system. I programmed the sensor blind spot just before you got here. We can leave tonight."

"Tonight?" John realized he was sounding like a trained parrot.

"That was the plan, wasn't it? To leave as soon as we were ready?"

"Yeah..."

Gilina noticed his reluctance. "John, what's wrong?"

"Can we wait one more day?" he asked. "We should get some more supplies, food and water, just in case we take a wrong turn or can't stop at the first system we come to for some reason. A margin of safety, if nothing else."

Gilina arched a knowing eyebrow.

"And yes," John admitted sheepishly, "I would also like to get one more shot at studying those wormhole equations I saw. It could be just what we need to get back to Earth."

"I don't like staying any longer than we have to," Gilina sighed, hands folded protectively across her abdomen.

"It's just one more day, and we really might need the extra supplies. You know I'm still not an expert at flying these Peacekeeper ships."

Gilina still looked uncomfortable, but nodded reluctant assent.

* * *

It was the last day, last chance, and John was getting more frustrated with every passing minute. He'd caught a couple more brief glimpses of the hauntingly familiar equations, but still had no chance to study them.

Much of his frustration stemmed from his suspicion that, had Crais simply swallowed his pride and sent his new crewman specialist to the gammak base openly, John would have gotten his answers by now. As a tech, he simply did not have the clearance to see what he needed to see.

With less than half an arn until the end of shift, John was starting to reconcile himself to leaving the base with just what wormhole information he already had, scant though it was.

He and Khall had swapped positions today, the tech working underneath the latest work station console to go on the fritz while John watched from above to monitor the effects. As he stared at the fuzzy screen full of blue and black patterns, he was struck with a sudden feeling of deja vu that nearly made him laugh aloud. _It's the frelling blue screen of death_ , he joked to himself. _Bill Gates' influence has spread further than we ever suspected!_

A few meters away, Lt. Xhorel was staring intently at a working screen, with the desperate, confused expression John remembered DK wearing the first time he'd opened a calculus text book. His friend had sworn he'd been issued the Greek translation by mistake.

John itched to be invisible, just for a minute or two, to look over the officer's shoulder and see if it would make more sense to him. Then, suddenly, as if the very universe was responding to his desires, an opportunity marched in, in the guise of a helmeted guard. The faceless grot spoke a few curt words to Xhorel, who blanched and swallowed nervously before following the guard out of the room. He was so flustered by the unexpected summons that he completely forgot to clear his screen.

John froze for a microt, almost unable to believe his luck, but then he shook it off and set to work. Gilina had showed him a trick last night, to remotely access data terminals. He couldn't do it while Xhorel was there, because the link wasn't subtle, or undetectable. But while the terminal was vacant, it was easy.

Cross-connect a couple of wires...feed the system an override command that neither he nor Gilina was supposed to know...and the fuzzed-out screen before him cleared, receiving data from a new source. Taking a deep breath to calm the rattlers raging in his gut, he looked down at what he'd come so far to see.

_What the hell?_

They were familiar, and yet not. Equations, symbols he'd never seen before in his life, and yet they tickled his brain with hints of something.

It was woefully incomplete, barely more than scratching the surface...he knew that, too, and yet he didn't know what was missing, or where.

Voices and footsteps approached from the corridor; he should shut down, disconnect from the other terminal before he was caught, but he couldn't move a muscle. Numbers and vectors whirled before his eyes, teasing him with not-quite-knowledge.

But that...there...that was...

"That's not right."

The words fell from John's lips in a quiet murmur he hadn't meant to utter aloud, and the sound dropped into the sudden, deadly silence of the room like a pulse shot. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see two black-clad figures in the doorway, looking at him.

Like a fly caught in amber, John stood staring at the screen, unable to even blink. The equation was wrong, badly wrong, but no matter how hard he looked he couldn't see _what_ was wrong about it. And he couldn't look away.

A voice behind him said, calmly, "That man, he is an imposter. Seize him."

The equations continued to burn into his mind until rough hands dragged him away.

* * *

"I am Scorpius."

_No shit, Sherlock._

John had to bite his tongue to restrain the hysterical impulse to mouth off, though hysteria seemed perfectly justified at the moment. Strapped into something that reminded him a little too much of an electric chair, spinning slowly in the center of the dark chamber-it was like a Disney ride from hell. _Stick with the persona, John; you're a meek little tech._

"I don't understand why I'm here," he said. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Name," Scorpius ordered.

"John Crichton. Tramco support, maintenance provost. On temporary reassignment to this base." He'd had that litany drilled into his head the whole trip here.

"Unfortunately, wrong, on all counts," replied the black-hooded creature, now leaning into John's field of view. He lifted a gloved hand, gesturing to the arctic-eyed redhead behind the console.

She flipped a switch, and the chair's resemblance to the electric chair suddenly ceased being a fanciful one. Shock sang through his body, as if he'd touched a live wire with every square inch of skin at once. The pain was excruciating, but brief, and he gasped for breath as it faded.

"You look quite Sebacean," Scorpius pointed out calmly, as if nothing had happened, "yet your energy signature is quite dissimilar. What species are you?"

_Oh crap, how did he know that?_ "You're no poster boy for racial purity, either," John replied irritably. The comment broke free against his will, stress overriding restraint and tact as per usual. He winced, expecting another zap for his impertinence.

Scorpius merely tilted his head curiously. "Perceptive," he replied in a voice heavy with irony, "but irrelevant. Who are you working for?"

The question caught John by surprise, and he barely had time to register Scorpius lifting a gloved hand. There was no time to brace himself.

Not that it would have done any good.

Fire raced up John's spine and exploded in his brain, searing pain all through his body.

_Oh god..._

Muscles seized, bruising wrists and ankles as they jerked against the harsh restraints.

_Make it stop..._

The conflagration spread from the center of his brain outward, sending images and memories flashing before his eyes like birds fleeing a brush fire.

_So your life really_ does _flash before your eyes when you die_ , noted the tiny portion of his mind that wasn't busy screaming. Senses failed as the agony increased, darkening his vision, leaving him deaf to anything but his own cries.

An eternity passed, spanning just a few heartbeats. The fires gradually receded to a few smoldering hot spots along his nerves and what felt like red-hot needles piercing his eyeballs. Lights and shapes flashed before his eyes, which at first he took to be nothing more than after-images of pain, resolved into pictures on the screen. Random, almost too fast to see, but John still recognized them. Images of fire and danger-the inferno on the _Zelbinion_ , an angry Luxan gripping his throat, superheated plasma outside the window of the _Farscape_ during the first re-entry test, the ill-fated sling-shot maneuver-they were the very memories that had just flashed through his mind seconds before.

"What the hell was that?" he gasped out as soon as he could take a breath.

"A memory," replied the cadaverous alien smugly, still leaning over him with detached coolness. "Random and indistinct at the moment. It will take some time to map your neural patterns."

"You stay the hell out of my mind, you-" he began, rage flaring and adrenaline numbing the residual pain. His tirade was cut off in a convulsive splutter as the machine flared to life again, pulling him back down into the abyss.

_Damn Crais for getting me into this..._

The chair caught that thought and dragged it to the surface, along with memories linked to it.

Flashes of space, of ships: shuttles, his module, a Leviathan, Crais' carrier. A Marauder that had been his home for five of the strangest, scariest, most exciting months of his life. Faces: human, Sebacean, Luxan, Delvian, Sheyang, and Sykaran; Tauvo, Dad, Zhaan, Gilina- _no, mustn't think about her_ -Crais.

The images briefly settled down enough to distinguish fragments of conversation.

_"Sir, he claims to be a 'human', from a planet  
called 'Erp'."_

_"Your vessel appeared on our scans during the_  
battle, out of nowhere. Our readings indicate a  
low level of technology, no weapons or shields in  
evidence. Now, normally, something so primitive  
would be of no interest to us."

_"At the moment, you aren't worth the air we  
would waste to flush you out an airlock."_

The searing heat faded. John felt a preternatural chill flash over him. Whatever this machine was, it could read his mind, pull free his most private recollections. Gilina...oh, shit, Gilina, sitting in her quarters, waiting for him to get off shift, ready to flee the base with him, pregnant with his child...he couldn't let Scorpius see, couldn't let this bastard know who she was, what they had planned.

Inside his ravaged mind, John started building walls.

* * *

_"In recognition of your actions in preserving_  
the lives of two Peacekeeper officers, and the  
potential value of your work, High Command just  
today has granted my request. I am hereby  
authorized to offer you, John Crichton, a  
Peacekeeper commission as a Crewman Specialist."

"Clever, this Captain Crais of yours," Scorpius murmured as John's cries faded to breathless gasps. "To take a lie and turn it into truth, merely to plant another lie over it."

"I'll be sure to tell him you were impressed," John spat back, his voice hoarse. Defiance was the only weapon he had left, to prove to himself he wasn't broken.

"It takes a great deal to prove your worth to a Peacekeeper captain, especially when you lack the proper genetic make-up," Scorpius mused, almost to himself. "Harder, perhaps, in my case, as I had to overcome my Scarran heritage."

_So the bastard_ is _a Scarran_. What the hell was he doing on a Peacekeeper base? The Peacekeepers detested the Scarrans.

If this were an old superhero comic book, the villain would be gloating, enjoying his victim's pain and his own sense of power. John thought that might actually be an improvement at this point; the antagonism would at least keep him angry, spur his determination. At first glance, his nemesis fit the part of the archetypal villain perfectly, but Scorpius' utter detachment and businesslike calm inspired nothing in John but despair. He fought it, but it was growing more difficult.

Scorpius kept pacing around the edge of the platform, counter to the chair's rotation. It was making John dizzy.

"This captain of yours," Scorpy commented finally. "He must have had a reason for choosing you as his spy. I'd like to see more of that."

John knew what was coming by now, and had to bite his lip to keep himself from begging, pleading for mercy.

_Concentrate. Don't let him see her._

Through the haze of pain and the sweat stinging his eyes, he saw the machine find more of that last meeting with Crais.

_"What kind of 'opportunity'?"  
"I have received a request for the immediate  
transfer of six techs to a high security gammak  
base. There are rumors that the facility is  
pursuing wormhole technology."  
"And you couldn't just...you know...slip me  
in under the radar?"  
"Not as such; access to most of the facility  
is security three velka. Without a valid ident  
chip matching your genetic code, you wouldn't get  
two motras."  
"If there's a real wormhole research project  
out there, why not just ship me and my team off to  
join them openly? If we pool our resources, we'd  
probably figure it all out that much sooner, and  
it would get me out of your hair."  
"Tempting, but the achievement would then be  
credited to __that project."_  
"You don't just want wormholes for the greater  
glory of the Peacekeepers," John realized. "You  
want them for you, as something to put on your  
resume."  
Crais got up and started pacing around the  
room. "I've never been one of the elite,  
Crichton, did you know that? My parents were  
common farmers. I was never afforded  
opportunities that space-born Peacekeepers are  
given; I rose through the ranks on my wits,  
but some doors were always closed to me. If,  
through your efforts, I can present High Command  
with working wormhole technology, those doors  
will swing wide and I can rise to where I  
should be."  
A long pause.  
"If I were to agree to this-"

The image froze there, and an alarm sounded at the console. "He's resisting," reported the woman running the machine.

For the moment, however, her boss didn't seem to care. "Our spy has an interest in wormhole technology. Interesting. Find what he knows."

The two of them watched dispassionately when John began to scream.

_"Entering critical apogee phase."_  
"Farscape One, hold a moment!"  
"Hold? Canaveral, what?"  
"Meteorology reports some kind of electro-  
magnetic wave, repeat, some kind of wave. John do  
you read me?"  
"Yeah, I'm reading you. What kind of wave?  
Is it a solar flare? Canaveral?"  
Static, garbled voices.  
"Canaveral?!"  
Through the static, he heard his father's  
voice shout "Abort!" but it was too late. A  
blue wave of energized plasma washed over the  
module, the force throwing it into a spin and  
tumble. Through the turbulence and the struggle  
to regain control, he noted he was falling  
through a blue tunnel, unlike anything he'd ever  
seen before.

_"This technology interests me. In order to_  
further Peacekeeper research, I am considering  
allowing you to remain aboard, to assist our techs  
in researching the problem."

_"Tauvo, take this Crichton down to medical_  
and have them do a full bioscan. I will contact  
Chief Gelvis and have some techs assigned to  
the project."

_As he neared apogee, he heard a voice_  
calling out to him. "... ohn, we...tecting...  
lar flare ... ear me?"  
A bright light, just as he was ready to pull  
up. When his eyes stopped blinking at the  
overload, they were drawn upwards, to a blue  
light. A funnel shape, twisting and spinning,  
leading down to nowhere. Gorgeous...

"He's still putting up blocks, sir."

"Of course he is," Scorpius replied, unperturbed. "Break through; he must know more about wormholes."

_Keep him out...don't let him see..._

_"There are but a few places we can live. The_  
Ancients have stories of a world that will welcome  
us. We can only hope they're true."

More beeps from the console as the scene froze up again.

"Another block?"

"Yes sir," the woman replied. "Much stronger than before."

"Really, Crichton," Scorpius scolded. "You are only making this more difficult on yourself."

"Wasn't me," John gasped back, grateful for the reprieve, whatever the reason. "Don't ya hate it when the batteries go dead?" he laughed, more than a little hysterical with pain and exhaustion.

"Break through, increase the extraction level," Scorpius ordered, showing the first hint of emotion John had seen.

_Oh...fuck..._

Up until now, the scenes playing out before John's eyes had been like watching a rerun of "This Is Your Life". This time, though, there was something...new.

It was him, and the Ancient who called himself Jack-their last talk in the hive chamber, just as he remembered-but the words...

_"These equations are necessary for creating  
a wormhole."_

"I don't remember that..." John whispered.

* * *  
 _"You're teaching me how to-"_  
"No. You cannot access this data consciously.  
You will not remember this part of our encounter.  
We will not give you wormhole technology."  
"Why not?"  
"If you're not smart enough to discover it  
on your own, you're not smart enough to handle it  
wisely. You'll have to find it yourself. The  
unconscious knowledge we've given you will guide  
you, nothing more. That's all that we can do  
for you, but that should be enough. You are  
already on the right path."

"He...he gave me the equations." Shock, and betrayal, and a bare wisp of hope. He might have gotten home by now if they hadn't been so paranoid. He might yet, if he could figure it all out.

"Fascinating," Scorpius crowed, breaking his mood with a snap back to reality. "You sought wormhole knowledge, infiltrated this gammak base to find it, never realizing you already possessed it." Turning to the woman at the controls, his voice grew deep, harsh, and belligerent. "Find it. Segment his mind, as many layers as it takes."

Self-control failed, and John gave in to panic. They were going to rip him apart. "No," he begged, desperately. "No...please!"

His pleas fell on deaf ears.

* * *

Huddled against the cell's stone wall, John wrapped his arms tight around his ribs in a futile attempt to control the shivering that wracked his body. His cell mate, the manic ghost of Christmas future, had been dragged cheerfully off to take his own turn in the Chair, leaving John alone in the dark. Exhaustion, both physical and mental, demanded that he sleep, but fear and the adrenaline still pumping through his system denied him the relief of unconsciousness.

An electronic crackle issued from the surveillance panel on the wall, followed by a blessedly familiar voice.

"John?"

She had to call his name twice before he could make himself believe his ears. "Gilina! Thank god...are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I went looking for you when you didn't come back after your shift. I heard the techs talking about your arrest. What happened?"

"Never mind that, it's not important. I need you to do something for me."

"Anything. What is it?"

"Leave. Take the Marauder and just go-"

"What? No! We've got to get you out of there!"

He shook his head. "Forget about me; I need you to be somewhere safe, where they can't find you. They're ransacking my mind for information, stealing my memories."

A gasp. "The Aurora Chair?"

"If that's what Scorpy's little toy is called, then yeah. If they find you in there, find us, see what we had planned...they'll arrest you, kill the baby, and maybe execute you, too. Just go, find some planet I've never heard of and hide."

"I won't leave you, John. Just hang on. I sent a secure comm to Officer Sun, and she's going to pass the news along to the captain. He may be able to negotiate your release; technically, you're still under his command."

_Yeah, right,_ John sighed inwardly. He'd seen the avarice lighting up that Scarran monster's eyes. It was pure hunger, gold fever for the power locked inside John's skull. The bastard wasn't going to let him go until he got what he wanted.

No point in dashing Gilina's hopes, though. "I still want you out of here, 'Lina," he insisted. "If Crais can get me out, great. I'll figure a way to come find you, somehow, somewhere-"

"I can't stay tapped in too long, John," Gilina interrupted. "Just hang on; I'll think of something."

"Gilina, no!" he shouted, his voice rasping with abuse. He turned, facing the wall camera in desperation, calling out, but the electronic click of a cut connection was his only reply.

* * *

_Second verse, same as the first._

It was day three on the merry-go-round. Maybe. It was so hard to keep track of time. Thanks to his cellmate Stark, who wasn't nearly as crazy as he'd first appeared, John had gotten a little relief from the pain and fear last night, and actually slept for a little while. But even so, the exhaustion was inescapable. All John could feel, by this point, was tired amusement and vengeful satisfaction at Scorpius' mounting frustration.

They were searching every dark corner of John's memories, looking for wormholes and hitting nothing but the sturdy walls he'd erected to guard Gilina. The continued resistance only further convinced the Scarran bastard that John was deliberately hiding his knowledge, and drove him into a frenzy of annoyance. There was no sign at all that Gilina's call for help had done any good; Crais had probably just written John off as a loss and washed his hands of the whole affair.

John could feel his body weakening, his mind cracking around the edges. It would be a race. Would his body give out-heart failure, stroke, he wasn't picky-before his mind crumbled?

Scorpius and PK Barbie had given up trying to overpower John's neural blocks after the third heavy nosebleed, afraid to kill their prize goose before he laid his golden egg. The strategy now, it seemed, was to wear him down slowly, keeping the Aurora Chair at a low level for extended periods. He couldn't even work up the energy to scream after a while, and just sat, gasping, as he endured and prayed for an end.

_"Hey, Jimmy Dean!" a ten-year-old Johnny  
_ _Crichton called out. "Pick on someone your own  
_ _size!"  
_ _The older boy-his name was actually Lenny,  
_ _John would find out later-turned to look at  
_ _this new annoyance. His adolescent muscles were  
_ _already bulging through a skin-tight t-shirt; his  
_ _face wearing an exaggerated sneer. He dropped  
_ _the skinny little boy he'd been extorting lunch  
_ _money from and stalked towards John.  
_ _The small boy, instead of running away, took  
_ _heart from the unexpected support. He jumped to  
_ _his feet and kicked Lenny in the back of the knee.  
_ _Stumbling slightly, Lenny spun around in a  
_ _rage, but he still hadn't learned not to turn his  
_ _back on an opponent. A second kick from John,  
_ _better-aimed and on an already weakened knee  
_ _joint, sent Lenny crashing to the ground.  
_ _Instantly, John had an arm firmly around  
_ _the bully's neck in a choke-hold he'd learned  
_ _from his sister Susan, who used it remorselessly  
_ _on her baby brother when he was being a pest.  
_ _The smaller boy looked ready to punch Lenny in  
_ _the nose, but John waved him off.  
_ _"Bother us again," he growled in the bigger  
_ _boy's ear, "and we'll pound you into pudding.  
_ _Got it?"  
_ _Lenny beat a hasty retreat the second he  
_ _was released, leaving his two ex-victims standing  
_ _together in the school yard.  
_ _"Hey," the smaller boy said. "Thanks for  
_ _the help."  
_ _"No biggie. Name's John. John Crichton.  
_ _We just moved here from Annapolis."  
_ _"Doug Knox. Call me DK."_

_"Dammit, Aeryn, we've got to do_ _something.  
_ _He's getting worse, and no one else is lifting a  
_ _finger to help. His own crew has given up on him,  
_ _but I won't."  
_ _"And what do you think you can do, Crichton?  
_ _You're a tech-no, not even that-and you've  
_ _never even fired a weapon!"  
_ _"Fine, I'm an inferior being with no  
_ _redeeming qualities. But I have two hands and a  
_ _brain, and I can not just sit around and watch a  
_ _man suffer like this."  
_ _"What is he to you that you're so determined  
_ _to risk getting injured or killed in this insane  
_ _quest?"  
_ _"What were you to me, Aeryn, when I pulled  
_ _you out of that fire on the_ _Zelbinion? What were  
_ _you when you were paralyzed and I goaded you into  
_ _fighting back? What were you when that wormhole  
_ _appeared and I took you to my home world rather  
_ _than abandon you? You were a shipmate, Aeryn, a  
_ _comrade. You were someone I had come to respect.  
_ _Someone I had even started to consider a friend.  
_ _Well, the same is true of Lt. Crais here. I hope  
_ _I'd try to help_ _anyone who was suffering like  
_ _he is..."_

The chair powered down at a gesture from Scorpius, and the memory scene froze. There was a long silence as the half-breed stood unmoving, seemingly lost in thought.

"It is time to break this impasse," he finally declared, striding towards the door. "Keep Crichton here; I shall return shortly."

* * *

Two arns passed. John sat, still strapped helplessly into the inactive chair, with nothing to do but watch the techs bustle through their maintenance duties. Not one of them was willing to look him in the eye.

He worried for a while about what Scorpius had in store for him. Eventually, though, he succumbed to sheer exhaustion.

Many boot-clad feet pounding in the corridors woke him in time to hear Scorpy's taunting voice. "Time to end this game, Crichton," said the Scarran. He kept his eyes on John, watching for the slightest reaction. A black-gloved hand gestured toward the entrance.

John couldn't see at first, the chair having stopped with him facing the control panel. The reason for the bastard's assurance quickly became evident. Six techs, huddled in a frightened knot, shuffled into his field of view. Two armed guards stood on either side.

John's stomach dropped through the floor in sick horror when he saw that Gilina was one of them.

_No, that's not possible. I kept that secret, kept him from seeing..._

"What are you-" he started to ask, fearing the answer.

"In my explorations of your mind, Crichton," Scorpius broke in, as if John hadn't spoken, "I noted an interesting facet of your psyche. You have shown again and again that you value the lives and well-being of others-friends, acquaintances, even total strangers-enough to risk physical harm to yourself in their defense. It is a trait found to your degree in only a few other races I know of."

John tried to avoid looking at Gilina, so as not to give away her specific importance to him. It took a moment for him to realize that he knew all of the other techs in the group as well. Five of them, including Gilina, had traveled with him to the gammak base from Crais' carrier group. The sixth was Khall, his work partner from the lab.

"So," Scorpy continued, "if you will not give me what I want to save your _own_ life, perhaps you will do so to save the life of one of these innocent people. You know them all, do you not? Consider some of them friends?"

"Damn you, Scorpy!" John cried. "I've been telling you for three days: I'm not blocking anything about your precious wormholes! Let them go!"

"The equations are there, inside your brain. You have only to let me access them, and these techs will be allowed to return to their duties. It is quite simple, really."

Now, as Scorpy gestured to Niem to start the Chair, John realized that the bastard had won. He risked looking at Gilina, to see her frightened eyes staring back at him. He begged her forgiveness with a silent, pleading gaze; to save her life, he was going to have to risk exposing their secret. It was the only way to prove to Scorpy that he wasn't hiding the wormholes from him.

The chair began to spin, and the rising hum of the machine heralded the return of pain and memories. With a fearful sigh, John dropped his walls.

The first images to appear were of intimate moments, starting with their kiss on the _Zelbinion_ , and he felt himself blush at having such memories broadcast for all to see.

Scorpius snorted with disgust and waved Niem to a halt after only a few memories had surfaced. He didn't appear to notice that the woman in the pictures was present in the room; he probably hadn't bothered to even look at any of the techs he'd had detained.

"These sexual escapades, entertaining as I'm sure they are, do not interest me. Show me the wormhole equations!"

"Please," John implored him. "I've stopped resisting; you've got everything now. I told you I wasn't hiding wormholes."

Niem confirmed that the blocks were gone, but Scorpius didn't want to hear it. Three more attempts yielded similar results, though none of the truly incriminating memories had surfaced yet. He remained aggressively disinterested in the relationship being revealed, and finally shook his head.

"I had hoped you would be reasonable, Crichton. Perhaps you believe I wasn't serious in my threats, and so you remain obstinate."

"No!"

"I think, perhaps, a demonstration of my sincerity might expedite matters."

"Oh, god, please! No!"

Pulse pistol gripped in one hand, Scorpius turned towards the group of techs. He raised the weapon, ignoring John's increasingly desperate pleas, and fired one shot.


	9. A Cavalry of One

_"_ _That...is the radiant Aeryn Sun..." - John Crichton  
_

 

Officer Aeryn Sun, special Peacekeeper commando and Marauder pilot, was bored out of her mind. All alone on a ship that usually held anywhere from five to seven people, she had no one to talk to and few duties to keep her occupied. This morning, she'd found herself doing maintenance on the hetch drive, just because she knew how. Tech work might be officially beneath the dignity of a Peacekeeper officer, but it did keep the mind occupied. She'd have to remember to thank Renaez when the techs got back to the carrier.

Five days. Five frelling solar days of this, and she still had four more to go before she reached the convoy. She'd have welcomed even Crichton's stupid 'foot ball' game at this point.

A quiet beeping roused her from her stupor, and she nearly pounced on the communications station, grateful beyond reason for something-anything-that would alleviate the solitude and silence.

Glancing at the indicators, she paused for a microt in confusion. A secure channel? From the gammak base? Why would the base be contacting her?

Taking a seat, she activated the descrambling subroutines and opened the channel. There was no visual, which was odd, and even the voice signal was weak.

"Officer Sun? This is Gilina...do you read me? Oh, please answer-"

"Gilina?" Aeryn replied. "What the frell are you doing using secured communications? Do you have approval for this transmission?"

"No, I don't, and I don't care. Just be quiet and listen, please."

Aeryn sat back, shocked at the tech's intensity. She had never, even in the casual informality of their monens in the crippled Marauder, spoken to Aeryn in such a tone.

"John's been arrested," Gilina continued, sounding like she was fighting back tears. "The techs who were there said the chief scientist, Scorpius, accused him of being an imposter. I don't know if John saw or did something he shouldn't have, or if this Scorpius somehow figured out he wasn't Sebacean. He may think John's a spy. Please, we have to get him out of there!"

"When did this happen?" Aeryn asked, all thought of reprimands gone.

"Just a few arns ago. We were...he was going to meet me in my quarters after his shift, and he never showed up, so I went looking."

"Why call me? This is something you should have reported directly to Captain Crais."

"I can't. I've tapped into the communications system, but I can't use the main transmitter without them detecting my signal. The auxiliary system doesn't have the range to reach the captain; I could barely reach _you_."

"All right, I'll do what I can. Get off this channel, Gilina, before they detect the signal and drag _you_ off to a cell, too. I'll contact the captain; maybe he'll be able to negotiate with this Scorpius for Crichton's release."

"Thank you, Aeryn," came the breathy reply. "Please hurry. I've heard some disturbing things about this Scorpius."

Aeryn wasted no time. The microt the comms channel closed, she opened another to the carrier.

"Control, this is Officer Aeryn Sun, aboard inbound Marauder transport Dekka Ten. I have an urgent message for Captain Crais."

There was no acknowledgement, just a beep. Standard procedure, to minimize unnecessary comms traffic and reduce the risk of interception. After about thirty microts, the holo-projector on her station flared to life. The face that greeted her, however, was not the captain's.

"Officer Sun," Lt. Braca greeted brusquely. He was Crais' third-in-command, and apparently it was his turn to command the nightwatch. "Captain Crais asked not to be disturbed; I will take your message and relay it to him when he arrives."

"With all due respect, Lt. Braca," Aeryn replied, "I believe the captain would want to hear my news immediately. It concerns Crewman Crichton's intelligence mission."

"I'm sorry, Sun, but the captain left strict instructions. Given the...circumstances, I would not care to violate that directive for anything less urgent than a Priority Red One communiqué from High Command."

 _Ah,_ Aeryn thought, hearing Braca's insinuation, _Lt. Larell must be back from her latest mission aboard Moya._ The leviathan specialist's involvement with her commanding officer was widely rumored, though never officially acknowledged.

If that was the case, then disturbing the captain right now, even with news of this importance, would only get her reassigned to waste extraction cleanup. Her news would have to wait until the daywatch.

She summarized the information she had received regarding Crichton's arrest for Braca, without specifying her source, and received his reassurances that he would pass along the message. They signed off, and Aeryn yawned.

Dealing with the carrier's nightwatch duty officer had reminded her that the hour was very late. Setting the proximity sensors to alert her if any objects approached too close to the Marauder, she headed for her bunk.

* * *

This was ridiculous.

Efficiency was one of the first principles of Peacekeeper life, in everything from battle and training to recreation and rest. Wasted time was dereliction of duty. Sleep was an unproductive but necessary activity, a need no geneticist had managed to breed out yet. As such, soldiers were trained to fall asleep quickly and awaken punctually, with as little time as possible wasted in restless contemplation.

So why, an arn after lying down on her bunk, was she still staring at the ceiling?

 _What of Crichton?_ whispered a silent, treacherous voice.

Well, what _of_ him? There was nothing she could do for him, except what she'd already done in reporting his situation.

_"I've heard some disturbing things about this Scorpius."_

Gilina had said that. The real problem was, Aeryn had heard things, too. The induction of a hated Scarran, even a half-breed, into the Peacekeeper ranks had caused a lot of talk back when she was a young cadet, and rumors had continued to fly across space in hushed whispers ever since.

To think of Crichton-John-in that creature's hands...

Aeryn sat up suddenly and clambered to her feet with a frustrated growl. She stomped onto the command deck and looked around, but the silence that greeted her there was no more enlightening than the ceiling over her bunk had been.

Action. What she wanted-no, what she needed-was to _do_ something. But without orders...

_"T_ _o hell with your fucking orders..."_

The voice was Crichton's, resonating in her memory. Monens ago, in a Marauder's command chamber much like this one.

If their positions were reversed, if Crichton were here and she were the one in trouble...oh, she knew what he'd be doing. He'd done as much before. For her. For others.

Could she do any less for him?

Swift and sure, Aeryn's hands flew across the navigation console. She'd been cruising back to the carrier at a judicious hetch 4 for the past five days. With the flick of a few switches and a new set of coordinates input, she set a return course to the gammak base. At hetch 7, the top speed this vessel was capable of, it would still take her nearly three days to get back.

If Captain Crais were to order her back to the gammak base tomorrow to retrieve Crichton, this course change would give her several arns head start. If he ordered her back to the carrier, she could make up the lost time easily at this speed.

That is, if she chose to obey such an order.

Her hand paused in the air, hesitating over the final control. The actions she was contemplating, even this simple course change, verged on dangerous disobedience. A simple soldier such as herself was not supposed to be taking such initiative.

A brief flash of a mental picture-Crichton chained to a wall, the Scarran's hot breath searing across his neck. She shook off the image, took a deep breath to quell her anxiety, and slapped her hand decisively down on the panel. The Marauder swung about on its new course.

When she lay back down on her bunk a few microts later, she fell asleep instantly.

* * *

Crais called the Marauder within a quarter arn of the start of the daywatch, to reconfirm and get more details than Braca had been able to pass along. Unlike the lieutenant, Crais asked about her source for this information.

"One of the techs we sent," Aeryn dissembled, "sent a secure voice comms to me from the base's auxiliary transmitter, reporting the arrest." Crais did not inquire further into the tech's identity; it was quite believable that a soldier would not bother to learn the names of mere techs, nor be able to identify them by voice.

Immediately after severing his communication with her, Crais opened another tight-beam transmission, this time to the gammak base. The reason Aeryn knew this was that she and her Marauder were sitting on a direct line between the carrier and the base, and thus in a perfect position to 'accidentally' intercept the message.

It didn't take long for a very annoyed Scorpius to arrive on the channel.

"What is the meaning of this, Captain?" the Scarran's voice growled indignantly. "You risk exposing my entire operation with this foolhardy transmission!"

Crais ignored the complaint, replying in an equally forceful tone. "I am informed," he said, "that you have arrested one of the techs I recently transferred to your gammak base."

Crais paused there, and there was nothing but the crackle of static from the other end. Scorpius was probably trying to figure out how Crais could have known about that so soon. Aeryn hoped Gilina had hidden her tracks well.

"My compliments on the efficiency of your spies," Scorpius finally said in a mild tone. "I did indeed detain an alien who was apparently masquerading as a tech."

"I am aware that the man in question is not Sebacean," Crais said. "He was granted a commission through a special dispensation from High Command. Much as you were, if I recall correctly. Release him at once."

This time, the Scarran's tone was almost amused. "I have become aware of that, as well, Captain, during the course of my interrogation of the prisoner. He presents an interesting challenge for the Aurora chair design."

"Release. Him. Now."

"If it were only the initial subterfuge at issue here, Captain, then I would be happy to release your little spy. But he has been refusing to reveal information, vital information that he possesses regarding this base's primary field of research. My mandate for this project allows me wide latitude in acquiring the necessary data; I am well within my authority to detain him."

 _Oh frell,_ Aeryn cursed internally. _What have you gotten mixed up in this time, Crichton?_

"The tech is still officially under my command, Scorpius; the reassignment was temporary. Return him to my custody and I will get the information you say he is concealing. It is possible he simply does not trust you due to your heritage. All the information he possesses will then be shared freely with your project."

"Really, Captain," Scorpius scoffed. "All this fuss over a mere tech. So undignified. It isn't as if you don't have others. This tech will be returned when I am finished extracting the information I need, and not before."

Aeryn waited for Crais to reveal Crichton's true rank and status, but he didn't. The two senior officers continued to bluster, posture, and threaten each other with vague and improbable consequences, pretending to connections and powers that she doubted either of them truly possessed. When they finally cut the transmission, nothing had changed.

Almost immediately, the comms station signaled an incoming transmission from the carrier, directed at her ship. Aeryn counted a slow ten microts before responding, so as not to give the impression that she'd been sitting there listening.

"Officer Sun, stand by to receive new orders," Crais barked, the annoyance in his voice barely lessened from his argument with Scorpius.

"Acknowledged," she replied crisply, automatically setting the comms station to record - standard procedure to retain a record of received orders.

"Reverse your current course and return to the gammak base. Maximum velocity."

"Aye, sir," she replied. This was the reason she'd taken the risk of eavesdropping - Captain Crais rarely, if ever, provided even the barest of explanations for his instructions. In this, he was not unusual among Peacekeeper captains, and asking questions was actively discouraged.

"My orders when I arrive, sir?" This was an allowable query.

"You will receive specific instructions prior to arrival. That will be all for now."

Which meant, Aeryn suspected, that the captain hadn't decided what to do yet. "Yes, sir."

Perhaps he still thought he could intimidate Crichton's captor into releasing him, or convince High Command to step in on his behalf. If that were the case, then her presence on the scene would allow for the most immediate retrieval.

But what if he couldn't? Based on the conversation she'd overheard, Scorpius didn't seem easily intimidated. And as for High Command, the chances of them interceding for someone of such low rank and status-and an alien at that-were beyond remote.

Would Crais order her to take preemptive action if his efforts at going through channels were unsuccessful? How badly did he want Crichton back?

With those questions still floating through her mind, Aeryn headed aft to check on the ship's armory and supplies. If she was going to plan a rescue, she needed to know her assets.

* * *

Gilina called that night, once again in the deepest arns of the nightwatch. She was calmer this time, her panic and fear having given way to simple determination.

Aeryn summarized the events of the day, including her course change and anticipated return to the base. The woman on the other end of the comms was silent for a moment, then said, "Will you be wanting to approach undetected?"

"It's possible. Depends on what the captain can arrange. Why?"

"There's a blind spot in the targeting sensors that I programmed in. If you approach on that vector, they'll never see you."

Something about Gilina's phrasing and hesitation triggered a faint suspicion in Aeryn's mind. When she received the vector coordinates, the suspicion blossomed into near certainty. Gilina's 'blind spot' was almost directly opposite her Marauder's current approach, pointing deeper into the Uncharted Territories. She would have to circle around the gas giant the moon was orbiting and approach from behind to make use of it.

She wasn't particularly surprised. Crichton and Gilina's plans to abscond to the Territories dated back to their monens in the damaged Marauder, and only the uprising on Sykar had prevented them from going back then. Commission or no, she knew Crichton was unlikely to be satisfied with a life among her people and was still determined to return to his own. And she knew, as she suspected Crichton knew, that should he one day manage to perfect the wormhole technology while working for Crais, or any Peacekeeper commander, he would instantly become a security risk and would never be allowed to leave.

Gilina's motives were harder for Aeryn to comprehend. She had a life among the Peacekeepers. Aeryn had had her life stolen from her once when she was injured, knew the pain of its loss and the joy she'd felt at being able to return to it whole and healthy. It wasn't a perfect life, but then what in the universe was? She couldn't imagine being willing to simply throw it all away, take her chances out among the lesser races, because of feelings for a single person. No matter how intriguing that person happened to be.

Apparently Crichton's arrest by Scorpius had interrupted another defection attempt by the two of them. Even with what little she knew of their plans, she thought they might have had a good chance of succeeding. But those plans could complicate any retrieval; once she had them safe, she couldn't just let them go. Hopefully she could convince them to wait and hope for another opportunity.

* * *

She arrived back at the gammak base on the morning of the third solar day after Gilina's first frantic signal for help. The blind spot worked perfectly, as she approached unchallenged, and she landed on the roof of the ruined structures that housed the base. The camouflage required to keep the base hidden dictated that no sensors would be located there to detect her.

She tried to ignore the part of her mind that was trying to ask what she thought she was doing acting without orders. She'd informed Crais of her imminent arrival at the base, only to be told to hold position and wait. She'd thought about it, argued with herself, but finally decided to act anyway. She owed Crichton that much, at least. If she succeeded, she figured Crais would probably ignore the insubordination, and if she failed, she'd probably be dead and it wouldn't be an issue.

A small access hatch led to a long stairway that descended into the base levels. It was an arduous climb, but less conspicuous than the level risers.

Trusting Gilina's assurances, she made no attempt to hide, but rather walked openly through the corridors as if she belonged there. As promised, the ident chip and DNA verification systems accepted her presence without a hiccup. The tech had not been idle these past three days.

Moments later, Aeryn stood outside a nondescript door and pressed the signal. She was admitted instantly, with no query or challenge.

The blonde tech was sitting cross-legged on her bunk, staring intently at the holographic display of a portable maintenance diagnostic unit. Thanks to Gilina's past lessons in tech matters, Aeryn knew enough to recognize that the unit was tapped into main control-something that, technically, neither she nor it should have been capable of from these quarters.

"Should you be doing that when anyone could have walked through that door?" Aeryn asked.

Gilina still didn't look up, completely mesmerized by the symbols dancing in the air. "I knew it was you," she replied. "I had the system notify me when you passed through security."

That gave Aeryn a moment's pause. Techs had been in the background of her entire life, largely ignored until these last few monens, but she'd thought she knew what they could and couldn't do. Gilina's casual mastery of everything mechanical was far beyond what she'd considered the norm.

"Have you always been able to do...this sort of thing?" she asked, sitting down on the edge of the bunk.

Now the tech did look up, a conspiratorial smile teasing the corner of her mouth. "As far as anyone else knows, I've never been able to do any of this. I've been careful to hide it. Let's just say that the standard duties and training regimen assigned to the techs were never enough of a challenge. I learned to challenge myself, instead."

"But why keep it secret?"

Gilina just shook her head. "Most techs aren't chosen for their technical aptitude, but rather because they fail to qualify, either physically or psychologically, for training as a soldier. So the vast majority simply don't have the ability or desire to excel. Those of us who _do_ have technical aptitude learn early on that it doesn't pay to stand out from the crowd, and there's really no incentive to be more than adequate.

"We don't get promotions or greater respect for excellence, not like soldiers." There was a touch of bitterness in her voice. At Aeryn's sharp glance, Gilina shrugged. "If we do get noticed, we get assigned to more dangerous or even frelling impossible duties. The price for failure grows higher, too. So most techs just want to stay out of sight. It's safer to be a mediocre nobody than to do too well and get noticed."

Aeryn was silent, absorbing this new insight. The world of the techs, even as intertwined in Peacekeeper culture as they were, was almost as alien to her as Crichton's primitive home world.

Which reminded her... "How is Crichton doing?"

Gilina's face fell, filling with worry in an instant. "I don't know. They've had him in the chair every day, for arns at a time. The last time I tapped into his cell, he could barely speak. He wouldn't let me tell him anything I was doing, so he wouldn't have to hide it from the chair. He's having a hard enough time blocking me and the...our relationship. We need to get him out of there, Aeryn, before Scorpius loses patience and kills him."

"We need a plan. I have a couple of ideas, but I'll need your help," Aeryn replied.

Gilina looked faintly surprised, but set it aside quickly. There was nothing they could do immediately; Crichton had been taken for another session in the chair before Aeryn landed and even Gilina, impatient for action after three helpless days of waiting, agreed that it would be too risky to attempt a rescue from there. Better to wait until he was returned to his cell.

It would be Aeryn's task to gain access to the cell somehow; for all her skill, even Gilina couldn't subvert that level of security. Once they were out of the cell, Gilina would create a false reactor overload alarm as a diversion, and all three of them could escape in the confusion.

When the two conspirators were finally satisfied with their plans, over an arn had passed and both were hungry. Control showed that Crichton's cell still contained only his Bannik cell mate, so Gilina offered to go get them food for a late mid-meal. It might be their last chance to eat before they needed to act and such opportunities were not to be squandered.

Left alone in the empty tech quarters, Aeryn found herself pacing back and forth like a Setlisk warding cat on a short leash. But even that wasn't helping, so she finally sat down on the bunk and began to field strip and clean her pulse rifle. The rifle didn't really need the attention-she'd performed a full overhaul on all of her weapons just last night-but it kept her hands busy and distracted her from her nerves.

She could perform this task in the dark, in her sleep-hezmana, she could probably do it while recreating if she had to. The mental image that thought triggered brought a brief smile to her face. Each movement, each piece removed and set aside in proper order, had become instinctive by now, after so many cycles of practice. The dance was soothing in its simplicity, quieting to the mind. It was as close as a Peacekeeper ever got to meditation.

The rescue was not what was causing her unease, she knew. From a strictly military, goal-oriented perspective, the plan was amazingly simple and their chances of success were high. After all, the easiest enemy to defeat is one whose weaknesses you know well enough to exploit, and she knew the procedures of the Peacekeepers here at the base as well as they did. What had Aeryn so tense were the potential consequences of this action. If they failed, her fate was certain: death. If they succeeded, however, her career-and her life-could still be forfeit.

It would all depend on Captain Crais, and perhaps a bit on Scorpius himself. If Crais were sufficiently pleased at the safe return of his foundling specialist, he might overlook one of his subordinates acting without orders. But if he took exception to her actions, or if Scorpius chose to make an official protest, Crais might make an example of her instead.

As the last component of the rifle clicked back into place, Aeryn glanced up and realized that Gilina had been gone quite a long time. Too long.

There might be any number of innocuous explanations for the delay, but Aeryn felt a strange shiver of foreboding. Slinging the rifle over her shoulder and casting caution aside, she marched out into the corridors to search.

Upon reaching the rec area that had been Gilina's destination, she saw no sign of her. Aeryn grabbed the first tech to cross her path and snapped, "I'm looking for Tech Renaez. She's been ordered detained for questioning." It was the most plausible excuse Aeryn could come up with on the fly; soldiers did not typically seek out techs for social reasons.

Eyes downcast and posture submissive, the tech stammered, "I'm sorry, Officer, you're too late. The other guards found her here almost a quarter arn ago."

"They took her to Scorpius?" she asked, her mask of stern professionalism slipping in her shock. This was most definitely not the answer she'd been expecting.

"That's what they said, ma'am. They had a bunch of other techs they'd rounded up, too."

As quickly as it had faltered, Aeryn's battle focus returned and redoubled. Her mission was the same, but she now had two targets instead of one, and no one to provide the diversion they'd planned on.

For just a microt, it occurred to her that she could slip away right now, go back to her ship and no one would ever know how she had exceeded her orders. But it was an unworthy thought, ill-befitting her own inner sense of honor, so she cast it aside immediately. She was here and had given her word; she'd see it through and frell the consequences. Given the new situation, it was quite likely she'd die in the attempt, so at least now she wouldn't have to worry so much about her future court-martial and execution.

* * *

Aeryn hurried through the corridors as fast as she thought she could get away with without attracting undue attention. Finding the Aurora chamber hadn't been as difficult as she'd feared. Presuming they'd be near the holding cells for convenience-that was the arrangement they had on the carrier, at least-she simply headed in that direction and then followed the screaming. She could hear Crichton's howls of pain echoing through the hallways even from a great distance. Then, as she approached the last intersection leading to the chamber, the cries faded away and she heard voices.

"...hoped you would be reasonable, Crichton. Perhaps you believe I wasn't serious in my threats, and so you remain obstinate."

The voice was unfamiliar, but the tone was both annoyed and threatening.

"No!" Crichton shouted, hoarse and frantic.

"I think, perhaps, a demonstration of my sincerity might expedite matters."

"Oh, god, please! No!"

Aeryn heard the desperate pleas rise in intensity and tensed, ready to storm the room to prevent whatever was causing such pain. But before she could react, a single shot sounded, followed by a number of panicked, choked-off screams and the muffled thump of a body falling to the floor.

There was a microt of silence, and then...

"'LINA! NO!"

The anguish and pain in Crichton's voice tore through Aeryn's heart. A careful glance around the corner confirmed what she already knew: Gilina was dead, crumpled to the deck in a pool of red blood and blonde hair. A nightmare vision in black was stalking past her body, speaking to someone she couldn't see but knew was Crichton.

"It seems I was correct, then," the Scarran half-breed noted with a hint of sick pleasure. "You do have feelings for these techs. Perhaps now you will be willing to give me what I want?"

He waved a black-gloved hand, and Aeryn heard the Aurora Chair power up. This time there were no screams, not even a whimper. Easing closer to the door, she could finally see Crichton-John-strapped securely into the chair. His face was wet, but his normally animated expression was blank, his eyes dead.

Aeryn felt the rising heat of righteous rage, a nearly irresistible urge to storm that nightmarish chamber and exact revenge. They had killed her...friend? Yes, Gilina had become, in spite of how little they had in common, a good friend. And even more than that; she knew that whatever pain she was experiencing at the loss, Crichton was suffering infinitely more.

Bracing herself against the wall, Aeryn shoved the unwanted emotions aside. There would be time to deal with them later, but now they only served to distract her from the mission. She held her position in the shadows. Gilina was gone, and there was nothing more Aeryn could do for her, except save the man she had cared for. Rushing in there, facing down a room full of armed guards and indulging in a blaze of violent retribution would only get her killed, and it would ill-serve the man who still needed her help.

The Aurora Chair's whine increased in intensity, and she could see the human's body convulse under the assault, but still no sound issued forth, and no emotion touched his face.

"Sir," said a female voice from somewhere behind Crichton, "something is wrong. The blocks were gone, but now the chair cannot even penetrate the most surface levels of his mind."

"Increase to maximum," Scorpius ordered impatiently.

"I am already at maximum power, sir."

"Analysis?"

A pause, as the officer sought an acceptable answer. "Perhaps a fault has occurred in the system, sir. I would need to run a full diagnostic to be sure."

"Very well, see to it. And as for you, Crichton," Scorpius said, turning to his prisoner. It took a moment for Crichton's eyes to even vaguely focus on the person who was speaking to him. "If I were you, I would use this time to consider the consequences of obstinacy. It has already cost you the life of one innocent; how many more are you willing to sacrifice?"

There was no reply from the broken man still strapped into the chair, except for a steady stream of tears rolling down his face.

Scorpius walked out of Aeryn's field of view, saying, "I have just one more item to address, then you can take Crichton back to his cell," she heard him instruct the guards.

Aeryn faded back around the corner and marched towards the cells on level nine, wanting to reach them well ahead of the guards. The original plan, painstakingly worked out with Gilina less than two arns before, was now utterly frelled. But it was all she had to work with, and they were out of time. Crichton wouldn't spend another microt in that chair if she had anything to say about it, so she'd make do with what she had.

The two armored grots arrived about two hundred microts after Aeryn had finished concealing herself, grunting and dragging the semi-conscious human slung between them. As they entered the cell, she moved out of the shadows and approached the open doorway. She arrived just in time to see the guards throw Crichton to the hard floor. Crichton's cell mate, a Bannik Stykera in a metal mask, attempted to catch him and managed to cushion the fall somewhat, much to the annoyance of the guards.

"Dammit, Stark," one of them growled. "We'll teach you to interfere with your betters."

Before they could begin the lesson, though, Aeryn spoke from the doorway in her best 'annoyed senior officer' voice. "I take it you slijnots have nothing better to do than let an inferior alien goad you? For the love of Chilnack, start acting like Peacekeepers! If I'd been an enemy, here to rescue one of these prisoners, you two would both be dead!"

The two grots, who had turned in thoughtless anger at the interruption, sprang to attention at seeing a superior officer, and looked more cowed with every syllable she uttered.

"I am sure you both have duties elsewhere," she continued, voice deepening further into a threatening monotone. "I suggest you go find out what they are and attend to them, before _I_ find out what they are and have them changed to something far more...disagreeable."

The two guards snapped out "Yes, ma'am" simultaneously as they squeezed out of the cell past Aeryn's unmoving form and rushed away.

For several microts Aeryn just stood there and let herself be surprised that that had worked. Neither of the prisoners were looking at her; the Bannik was completely focused on Crichton, and the human, for all that his eyes were open, didn't seem to be seeing anything at all.

"Dead...dead..." mumbled the frenetic alien, his hands hovering over the prone form of his cell mate and moving rapidly across his entire body, never touching him.

Aeryn's heart froze for a moment, fearing the worst, but she could see Crichton breathing and relaxed slightly. Whatever nonsense this madman was spouting, he wasn't referring to the human. Stepping into the cell, she carefully took up a position with her back to the wall camera.

The Bannik looked up suddenly, his single eye boring through her with mad intensity. "Death!" he barked, waving his arms wildly. "All around him, everywhere. _You_ did this! Peacekeepers!" The name was a curse in his mouth, almost spat upon the dirt.

"Stark," Aeryn said cautiously, holding her palms out in a placating gesture. "That's your name, isn't it? Stark? I'm here to help him, to get him out of here."

"Wants out," Stark agreed, his single eye glazing over as he looked at something no one else could see. "Wants to follow, follow the other one. His love, his life...still here, won't let them go..."

Aeryn shook her head, impatient with his babbling. "I can get you both out, but we need to snap him out of this. Can you do that?"

The Bannik seemed to pause, as if his insanity had flicked off like a switch. "You...here to rescue him? You're a Peacekeeper. Why? It's not what you do."

"He's a friend, Stark. The woman who died, the one he cared for, she was a friend, too." She could see that none of these words tracked with his ingrained perception of his captors. "He saved my life once," she clarified. _More than once,_ she thought ruefully. "I'm repaying the debt. I can't leave him to Scorpius."

"Scorpy, Scorpy...put him in the chair, the chair...round and round and..."

"Stark!" The madness faded again, leaving painful clarity gazing back at her across the space of the cell. "Can you wake him up, Stark? We can't carry him the whole way; I need him conscious, or this won't work."

"Try...I'll try..."

Stark gazed down into the human's blank face and lifted his mask slightly to release a soft yellow glow.

"Hiding," the Bannik murmured. "Doesn't want to remember. Doesn't want to come out. Doesn't want them to go."

Knowing she risked attracting the attention of the surveillance watchers, Aeryn fell to her knees at Crichton's side. "Crichton," she called softly, setting her hand against his cheek. The light from Stark's mask was warm on her skin. "Gilina asked me to get you out of here. She'd want you to escape, to be free. You have to help me, Crichton. I can't do this without you."

At first there was no response that Aeryn could see. Stark started chanting quietly, whispering long strings of senseless syllables, and the light from beneath his mask intensified. Crichton's blue eyes continued to stare unblinking at nothing for long moments. But then, as Stark's litany faded to silence, those eyes grew wet and tears spilled out of the corners. A blink, then another, and Crichton's whole body suddenly convulsed in a cathartic sob.

Aeryn felt his arms wrap around her in a sudden, desperate embrace, too quickly for her to move away. She let her own hands rest awkwardly on his back for a few microts, trying to give comfort without really knowing how. In spite of her regimented upbringing and cycles of indoctrination against wild emotion, Aeryn wasn't completely unfamiliar with this reaction. It helped to look past his true calendar age and see him instead as the newly-commissioned Peacekeeper that he was, facing his first loss in battle of a beloved comrade.

Many young soldiers within the Peacekeeper ranks-primarily those recruited from colonies, with memories of family connections, but some among the ship-born, too-failed to heed the official injunctions against close emotional ties. They would make close friends, and sometimes, adrift in a sea of adolescent hormones, they would believe themselves in love. But given the dangers inherent in a soldier's life, especially for the young and inexperienced, such youths rarely finished a single cycle of service without experiencing their first catastrophic loss, assuming they survived it themselves.

An emotional breakdown such as this, as long as it occurred out of the heat of battle and didn't endanger lives, would be officially ignored. The derision and harsh ridicule from the soldier's unit would almost always be enough punishment to prevent a recurrence of the error. It wasn't that any of them ever stopped feeling the loss; they simply learned not to show their feelings openly or let them distract from their duty. And the experience usually showed them the wisdom of not letting friends and lovers too close to their heart.

After less than a dozen microts holding the grieving, stricken human, Aeryn gently pulled away. As much as she might sympathize, they truly did not have the time to waste. She ignored the expression of utter shock from the Bannik and placed a hand on either side of Crichton's face, forcing him to look at her. "Crichton!" she called sharply. "Crichton, I need you to focus!"

She could see him start to fight for control. His ragged, shuddering breaths slowed down and evened out, but when his eyes still wandered, unable to focus, she resorted to a stinging slap across the cheek.

It worked, shocking him out of the vicious cycle of grief for the moment. "A-Aeryn?" he stuttered, his voice rough with pain. "You're here...Crais sent you?"

"Not exactly, Crichton. Gilina called me, told me you were in trouble. I'm here without orders; the captain was still trying to negotiate your release, and we were running out of time."

"How...why...?"

"No time for that now, Crichton. We need to get you out of here quickly; the guards in the surveillance booth are probably already getting suspicious about my presence, and I really don't want to have to shoot fellow Peacekeepers getting you out of here."

Crichton took a deep, shuddering breath-Aeryn could almost see him shoving his emotions aside for later so that he could function in the present. "Right," he muttered, making a brief but fruitless effort to get to his feet. After a microt, he collapsed back again, gasping. "Can't..."

"As I expected, after so many days in the Aurora chair," Aeryn reassured him, drawing a small ampoule out of her equipment belt. "There's an option, if you want it," she said carefully, holding the vial up for him to see.

"Wha's it?"

"Combat stim. Break the bulb and inhale; it acts almost instantly. Every Peacekeeper soldier carries one, for times when she needs to keep going in spite of fatigue or injury."

Crichton looked at her then, more clearly than he'd managed up until this point, and apparently saw her hesitation. "Wha's th' catch?" he asked.

"Catch?" Frell, now was not the time for him to be baffling the translator microbes.

"Gotta be a problem wi' it...y're worried."

"It's designed for Sebaceans," she admitted, "and I don't know how you'll react to it. There's no time to test it, and no way to get you out of here without it. The drug might work exactly the way it should, in which case you'll be able to walk on your own. It might have no effect at all." She paused, ignoring that possibility for the moment. "Or it might be poisonous to your species, and in your condition even a mild toxic reaction would probably kill you."

Crichton didn't hesitate. "Give," he demanded, holding out a quivering hand.

"You're sure?" she asked, holding the bulb just out of his grasp.

"Aeryn, 'f it works, great, we're outta here. If it kills me, then at least I'm out of Scorpy's hands. Either one's a better choice than staying here."

Looking in those haunted eyes, Aeryn wasn't sure which outcome Crichton was actually hoping for; it worried her. "And if nothing happens?"

He looked down at his hands. "Then I ask you two favors. Either kill me yourself before you go or leave me a gun-I'm not going back into that Chair again. And take Stark with you, drop him off someplace where he can be free."

"John..." Aeryn began, then paused. A flash of pain had washed across Crichton's face at her use of his given name-a name that only Gilina had really ever used in the past. Then he blinked away the tears and pretended nothing had happened, still waiting for her to finish the thought. In his eyes, now, Aeryn could see that he hadn't lost hope completely. He wanted the drug to work, wanted to escape. He still wanted to live, in spite of his grief and pain, though perhaps he wasn't even consciously aware of it. The threat of dying, either from the drug or at her hands, was simply a risk he was willing take for that chance.

"I promise," she finally said. Without another word, she put the stim vial in his hand.

"What the frell is going on here?"

The new voice, gruff and suspicious, startled Aeryn into a defensive spin and crouch. Standing in the doorway, arms crossed, was the base's security officer. As she'd feared, the surveillance personnel had noted her extended presence in the cell and reported to their superior. She stuffed down the initial impulse to attack and disable the man, and instead drew herself to attention and saluted. "Sir?" she asked, as if confused by the question.

"I'm Lt. Heskon, Chief of Security. What are you doing here without authorization?"

"My apologies, sir. The guards assigned to return this prisoner to his cell failed to handle him with the care Scorpius requested. I dismissed them with a reprimand and was simply assuring that there was no need to summon a med tech."

"And is there?"

"No, sir. I do not believe that any permanent damage was done." For a microt, Aeryn thought she might actually talk her way out of this situation. But then the lieutenant's eyebrows drew together warily.

"I don't recognize you, soldier. Identify yourself."

"Officer Nela Hardek, Ustar Regiment," Aeryn recited, using the false identity Gilina had given her in the base records. "I was recently assigned to the base, sir."

The lieutenant peered at her intensely, his skepticism growing. "I personally check every new arrival through security, Officer Hardek. I don't remember you. You'll have to come with me." He didn't quite draw his pulse pistol, but the threat was strongly implied.

With a mental sigh-she had so hoped to avoid this situation-Aeryn stepped smartly towards the door, saying "Of course, sir," as agreeably as she could manage.

As Heskon stepped back to let her pass, she swiftly drove the butt of her pulse rifle into his gut, followed by a sharp strike to the back of his neck when he bent over in pain and surprise.

After checking the lieutenant's pulse-she was relieved to find she hadn't killed him-she glanced back into the cell. The human and his companion were both staring at her, neither having moved a dench during the drama she'd just played out. Crichton still had the stim dose clutched in his hand.

"Hurry!" she insisted. "Security may sound an alert any microt; we have to move!"

Crichton glanced back down at the vial, likely recalling the three possible effects. The object in his hand might hold either a chance for life or a swift and sudden death. Breathing deeply, he grasped it in two trembling hands and lifted it towards his face. "Remember your promise, Aeryn," he whispered, then broke the vial and inhaled.

Aeryn held her breath, realizing with some surprise that she might actually care more about the outcome of this experiment than Crichton did. She'd come a long distance and run some serious risks to help two people she called 'friend'. Despite her best efforts, she'd lost one of them already, and she hoped she wasn't about to lose the other now.

For a few microts, Crichton showed no reaction whatsoever. Aeryn felt her heart start to sink; the effects of the stims were usually all but instantaneous. Then he convulsed violently, and only the Bannik's quick reflexes saved him from bashing his skull against the stone wall.

"Crap," the human gasped as soon as his body settled down again.

"Crichton?" she asked, worried.

He opened his eyes, and she saw the dilation of his pupils, the characteristic sign of the drug in his system. "I think it worked," he said, his voice sounding stronger already. "Man, that was like getting smashed in the face by a triple espresso wrapped around a gold brick."

Aeryn didn't know what a 'tryp lespraso' was, but she sympathized with his stunned reaction. She hated the stims, with their hyper-stimulation of every nerve and sensory input. They could make you feel invincible, but feelings like that made people careless and got them killed. She'd never actually used one outside of training.

Crichton was already struggling to his feet, though he still had trouble with his balance. Stark helped, supporting him when he staggered.

She reached down and plucked the unconscious lieutenant's pulse pistol out of its holster, then held it out to Crichton. He stared at it for a moment, then looked Aeryn in the eye as if asking if she was sure.

"You're a Peacekeeper now," she pointed out. "It's your right to carry a weapon." Knowing how he'd always felt about weapons and killing in the past, Aeryn expected him to refuse, or show reluctance. But his acceptance of the pistol was swift, and the look in his eye as he examined the weapon almost hungry.

"So, Aeryn," he said as they moved into the corridor. "What's the plan?"

"Plan?" She laughed without humor. "There's no plan. I'm making this up as I go. Come on, we've got to keep moving."

As they raced down the hallway, Crichton was still weaving slightly in spite of the stim. She heard him mutter under his breath, "Great. The Peacekeeper doesn't have a plan. We are so frelling dead."

* * *

With the wailing of alarms and the pounding of many booted feet echoing through the maze of corridors behind her, Aeryn finally ducked through the grate in the floor and into the sub-level crawlspace where Crichton and Stark were already hiding. They waited together in tense silence as dozens of their pursuers raced over their heads, oblivious to their quarry.

"We're frelled," Aeryn whispered when all was quiet again. "They've locked down the whole base, sealed all the access shafts. We'd need a senior officer's ident chip to get through the locks-"

"Which we don't have," Crichton pointed out.

"-and even if we got one," she continued, ignoring the interruption, "Scorpius' people will easily beat us to the surface using the level risers."

"Why do we need to get to the surface?" John wondered distractedly.

In the dim light, Aeryn could see his pupils had almost contracted back to normal. The stims were wearing off, far sooner than she'd expected. While his body reacted to the drugs much as a Sebacean's would, his metabolism obviously burned through it much faster. As the effects faded, so did Crichton's mental clarity; he didn't usually need to have things explained more than once. "The Marauder is there, Crichton," she clarified.

"Why not take the one in the hangar?"

"What?"

With obvious effort, Crichton shook himself and mustered his waning faculties. "Sorry, I forgot, you wouldn't know. Gilina and I...we were..." He faltered, emotions getting the better of him at the mention of the dead woman's name. Finally he just shook his head, wiped a hand across his face, and finished, "There's a Marauder in the hangar bay, prepped and ready to go. We could take that instead."

"Do I want to know?" she asked. Pointless question, really-between the sensor blind spot and now a Marauder, the conclusion was an easy one to draw.

"Probably not."

"All right."

Over the course of the next half arn, the three made slow and unsteady progress towards the hangar bay, dodging searchers and racing against Crichton's inevitable collapse when the stim wore off completely. By the time they arrived, he was being supported more by Stark's arm around him than by his own shaky legs. He'd led them through neglected back corridors to a side access door, a route Aeryn presumed he and Gilina had used before to reach this ship.

The hangar appeared quiet when they arrived, with just a single guard patrolling the huge space. The ship they sought was parked in a darkened corner less than a hundred motras away. Close, but still too much open space to cross without getting spotted by the guard.

"We gonna take him out?" Crichton asked, gripping his new pistol more firmly.

She looked at the human and shook her head. "I'm hoping to avoid that, Crichton. That guard is a loyal Peacekeeper. I'm still a Peacekeeper, too, no matter how this looks, and so are you. I'd like to have a chance of still being a Peacekeeper when this is over, and there's only so much Captain Crais will be able to forgive. Killing a fellow soldier would make that very difficult."

Crichton had the grace to look ashamed. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking."

"The advantage of _being_ a Peacekeeper in this situation," she continued, "is that I know how to exploit the system. You wait here; I'm going to go talk to the guard, try to convince him I have orders to take the Marauder up. When you see I have him distracted, head for the ship quietly, keeping in the shadows. Can you do that?"

"Sure, Aeryn," Crichton assured her, but the shakiness of his voice belied his confidence.

Concerned, she looked to Stark, hoping the staunch support the alien had shown for Crichton would carry them through. The Bannik nodded at her unspoken query, all indications of his prior manic behavior subdued by the first taste of freedom he'd likely had in a very long time.

Aeryn approached the single guard from behind, taking advantage of his lax attention as he believed himself unsupervised. She got within three motras and then cleared her throat. The soldier's startled gasp and flustered scramble to attention was amusing, and she had to repress a smile fiercely to maintain her stern mask.

"I trust the escaped prisoners have not slipped past you while you were daydreaming, soldier," she accused harshly, stalking around him so that he had to turn away from the side access door to keep her in sight.

"N-No, ma'am," he stammered. "There's been no one here since the alert sounded."

"Very well," she said, nodding slowly as if reluctant to accept his assertion. She glimpsed movement in the shadows behind the guard as her charges moved along the wall. "You are fortunate, Crewman, that the prisoners were last spotted heading for the surface and not for the hangar bays. I can overlook this minor dereliction of duty this time, but see that it doesn't happen again."

"Yes, ma'am." The response was quietly grateful, but she knew he'd learn nothing from this encounter. Had she truly been this man's supervisor, the penalty would have been harsher by far.

The shadowy figures in the distance had almost reached the looming Marauder in the corner. "I have orders to take a Marauder, to intercept the prisoners should they happen to reach their own ship in spite of our efforts."

"I received no such orders, ma'am," the guard said uncertainly.

"The commander and Scorpius are rather too busy at the moment to be bothered with minor details," she dissembled, standing straighter and crossing her arms impatiently.

The young man swallowed nervously, but he'd been well trained, notwithstanding his prior laziness. "I'll need to confirm those orders before I can allow you access to any of the ships, ma'am," he said.

She opened her mouth to argue with him, but at that moment a muffled thud sounded from the darkened recesses of the bay, and the guard turned, suddenly alert. Over his shoulder, she could see Stark tugging desperately at Crichton, who was sprawled on the floor unable to rise. It was his stumble and fall that had alerted the guard.

"Stand fast!" the guard shouted, drawing his pulse pistol in a quick, practiced motion. Before Aeryn could react, he had activated his comms. "Escaped prisoners sighted, ha-"

Trusting a fellow Peacekeeper to back him up, the guard had turned his back on her. It was a reasonable assumption, but ultimately his downfall. The impact of Aeryn's pulse pistol against the back of his neck abruptly silenced the call for assistance.

She left him sprawled on the floor-no time to hide the evidence-and hurried back across the bay to Crichton, who was struggling unsuccessfully to get back to his feet. Stark wasn't helping; his previous composure had disappeared, leaving him frozen in place muttering, "He's coming, coming, coming...Scorpy's coming...love the chair..." over and over. Whether this had been the cause of John's collapse or merely a result of it, Aeryn didn't know. And at the moment, she didn't have the time to care.

Without pausing in her trajectory, Aeryn marched up to the manic Stykera and slapped his single exposed cheek so hard that his mask nearly flew off. The deranged babbling ceased. "Either help us or stay behind," she announced to his shocked expression.

Shoving past the stunned alien, Aeryn reached down to help Crichton, who was still unable to get his feet under him.

He tried to shrug her hand away, insisting, "I can do it, damn it!"

Aeryn grabbed his arm a second time, more firmly, and hauled the human upright in a single motion, bracing him against the back wall. He tried to object again, despite the fact that his bleary, bloodshot eyes could barely focus on her.

"We don't have time for false bravado, Crichton," she said, cutting him off. "Someone could arrive in response to the guard's distress call at any time, and it will take me at least a hundred microts just to get the Marauder ready to fly."

Crichton seemed to absorb that, then nodded. Stark, back in a more rational mode, though he still looked twitchy and worried, had reappeared at Crichton's side and resumed his support of the weakened human. "Go," Crichton said to Aeryn. "Get the ship started; we'll get there as fast as Stark here can drag me."

She hesitated, reluctant to abandon John again to the erratic care of the Bannik.

"Go!" Crichton insisted, shoving her weakly towards the waiting ship. The effort nearly overbalanced him, but Stark caught his arm in a steady grip and kept him upright.

Bowing to the logic of Crichton's demand and the urgency of the situation, she simply nodded and turned away, heading for the Marauder to start the pre-flight process.

* * *

John watched as Aeryn Sun disappeared up the Marauder's loading ramp and into the bowels of the ship. Still leaning against the wall, with Stark on one side keeping him from toppling over, he tried to muster whatever wisps of strength he might have left. The energizing effects of the stim were gone, leaving him with only the crushing fatigue and the phantom pain of seared nerve endings left over from three solar days in the Chair, along with a sick, nauseous feeling, apparently withdrawal from the powerful drug. The ramp was only twenty motras away, but to him it looked like the last mile of an uphill marathon.

Stark was starting to mutter again, tugging at his arm with ever-increasing urgency. Glancing up, he could a dark, blurred figure moving around the Marauder's command deck through the shielded viewports, and hear the faint hum of the ship's systems warming up.

"Okay," he muttered to himself. "One foot in front of the other...you can do it." He leaned forward, hanging most of his weight on the arm he'd slung over Stark's shoulder, and swung one foot out. "One step at a time. Tortoise and the hare. Slow and steady wins the race." He and the Bannik were quite a pair, both babbling nonsense that spilled from their half-fried brains.

Breathing heavily, John paused and looked back up at the ship. Fifteen motras. Frell.

The distant sound of pounding feet gave John a burst of adrenaline, possibly the last his body had to offer. Stumbling and lurching, they got within five motras of the ramp before a squad of bubble-helmeted grots filed into the bay and ordered them to halt and surrender.

John pulled Stark around behind him and pointed his stolen pistol right back at them. Surrender was not an option.

"Hold your fire; I want them taken alive," said an oily, all-too-familiar voice. Scorpius sauntered into view behind the crouching guards, wearing a look of feigned disappointment. "John, John, John," he chided. "I cannot allow you to leave, you know that."

"Oh, so sorry, Scorpy," John replied, starting to giggle hysterically. "Don't you know Santa takes away your Christmas presents if you don't take care of them? You don't get to play with my brain anymore, Mr. Scrooge."

Scorpius gestured two guards forward to apprehend his prisoners; John shot each one in the leg in quick succession. Neither wound was fatal, but they wouldn't be getting up anytime soon. The remaining guards tightened their grips on their weapons, but discipline kept them from returning fire without orders.

"You cannot hope to shoot all of them, Crichton," Scorpius said, getting annoyed. "Don't be foolish."

"Maybe I can't," John agreed amiably. "But you can't shoot me, either. I think we've got a good old-fashioned Mexican stand-off here. We're going, Scorpy, one way or the other. You try and stop me, first shot goes through your head." _Second shot goes through mine,_ he thought but didn't say.

Scorpius hesitated, and both parties stood frozen for long microts. As John stared across the hangar bay at the Scarran torturer, his worst nightmare in black leather, the image of Gilina's shocked and terrified face as the pulse shot blasted through her flashed through his mind. Her eyes, once so trusting, had darkened in betrayal in the instant before she fell and bled her life out onto the metal deck. He'd failed her, John knew-her and their unborn child. But Scorpius had pulled the trigger.

The longer they stood there, the more hopeless the situation looked. They weren't going to get out of this; the only options left were surrender or death, and John knew which way he would choose. "Stark," he whispered to the trembling figure behind him, "get to the ship. Tell Aeryn to take off." There was no reply at first, and John held his breath, praying that the Bannik wouldn't decide to get all noble on him. "He stole two cycles from you, Stark," he argued. "You deserve a chance at freedom."

"And you?" Stark's voice replied in his ear, sounding saner than he ever had before.

"I'll get revenge. For both of us." _And for Gilina._

He felt Stark let him go and back away. Locking his knees, John somehow remained standing, holding on to the illusion of strength and the pulse pistol in his hand. He knew he only had microts to spare; already his vision was going gray at the edges, the sound of his heartbeat loud in his ears.

"Let them go, Scorpy," he called out before the guards could move to stop the retreating figure. "I'm the one you really want." There were quick, running steps behind him, clanging up the ramp, and then the mechanical hum as the hatch door folded up and sealed the ship.

"It seems your friends are abandoning you, Crichton," Scorpy gloated.

"At least they're away from you," he croaked back. Behind him, the Marauder's engines roared to life; he felt the blast of air as the thrusters fired, lifting the monstrous vessel into the air. The dozen grots fluttered nervously, backing away slightly. The ship hovered there, like an angel on his shoulder watching over him.

Well, if they wanted to watch the show, he'd gladly oblige. "You took something from me, Scorpius," he called out, though the roar of the engines drowned him out. It wasn't really important that the half-breed hear him, only that he said the words. "The only good thing I had after losing my home. You won't hurt anyone else I love. Not ever again!"

As best he could with blurred eyes and shaking hands, John aimed his pistol at Scorpius and fired.

He missed.

A second shot and a third also went wide, as his hands twitched and trembled beyond his control. He tried two hands on the butt of the pistol, but the shaking only increased. Scorpius was just standing there, making no attempt to retreat or find cover, as if he knew somehow that John could not hit him.

The half-breed made a gesture, and John saw the entire squad move forward en masse to capture him. Scorpy'd been right about one thing-there was now way he could take them all out before they reached and disarmed him. Trying would just be a waste of time, and Scorpy was the only person here he'd wanted to kill today.

He had time for just one thing, now. He would not be taken alive.

Pulling his weapon back, away from the distant target it couldn't seem to find, he turned it back and up, under his chin. This time, he was sure, he wouldn't miss.

There was a loud explosion, pain, and then darkness.

* * *

John drifted, floating in a starless void. There were voices, distant but growing clearer. Along with the sounds, an awareness of the physical, absent for so long, started prompting him with faint signals.

When he felt a cool hand touch his face and heard a feminine voice say his name, he smiled. She had waited for him, as he'd hoped. "'Lina," he murmured, "I'm so sorry..."

"Crichton, wake up."

That wasn't Gilina.

The world came crashing back in with a rush, the weight of his body against the hard mattress, the faint hum of engines in his ears. He was wrapped in a pounding, endless ache, with no way to distinguish where one hurt ended and the next began. And his cerebro-spinal fluid had seemingly turned to acid, a searing liquid flame that burned from the center of his brain out to the tips of his fingers.

For some reason, he couldn't remember why, waking up felt... unexpected. There was no memory of how he'd wound up here; his last clear recollection was Gilina, lying on the ground in a pool of red Sebacean blood.

He shoved the memory away, unable to cope with the knowledge just yet.

"Crichton?" the voice called again. It was familiar...

Straining against the fifty pound weights strapped to his eyelids, he pried his eyes open just a fraction. The lights were low, for which he was grateful, and he could just make out the dark-haired figure leaning over him. "Aeryn," he deduced, voice rasping through the sandpaper lining his throat. "Wha' happ'?"

"What do you remember?"

Enough to wish he couldn't. "Chair," he managed to say. "Scorpy. Shot G'lina."

Aeryn nodded. "I gave you a battle stim so we could escape the gammak base; they can often cause temporary memory loss while the drug is still in your system. It should wear off soon."

"Scorpy?"

"Don't worry, John, we're safe. We got away from the base."

The weight of his eyelids was finally too much. Comforted by Aeryn's presence, and her assurances of safety, he slipped back into the darkness.

When John woke the next time, pain had lessened slightly and his mind was working far better. Their insane flight from his cell to the hangar bay...the arrival of Scorpy and his goons...that last stand before the firing squad that wouldn't fire-he remembered it all, now.

He opened his eyes, far more easily this time, and looked around. A glint of light on metal revealed Stark, standing in the corner of the Marauder's small med-bay, watching over him. "Hey," he croaked out by way of greeting.

Stark didn't reply, just slipped silently out of the room. Less than thirty microts later, Aeryn Sun walked in the door. She had stripped out of the full commando uniform and was wearing a simple black tank top. "You're awake again, good," she said gruffly. "How are you feeling?"

"Thirsty."

She brought water, which he swallowed greedily. It took nearly the whole bottle to dissolve the layers of grit that had lined his mouth and throat. "Thank you," he said when the last drop had been sucked up greedily.

"Has your memory returned?"

"Most of it, I think. Just one question."

"Yes?"

"Why am I not dead? The ship was in the air, the guards were coming for me. Last thing I remember was turning my gun around so they wouldn't take me alive. There was an explosion...I thought I'd shot myself."

Aeryn sat down on the edge of the bay's second bunk. "I wasn't about to let you just die when I'd gone to so much trouble to rescue you, Crichton. I promised Gilina I would get you out. When I saw the guards coming, I used the Marauder's strafing cannons to drive them back. You were standing between the cannons when I fired, and the concussion knocked you out before you could pull the trigger."

John paused to absorb that. "Did you manage to avoid killing anyone?" he asked, remembering how important that had been to her. It would be hard enough for her to explain that she'd acted without orders, but having to justify casualties would make things that much worse.

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I aimed at the deck, but the shrapnel probably caused injuries. Someone might have died. But it was necessary."

"If I was unconscious, how'd you get me aboard?"

"Special retrieval procedure," the soldier in her answered with pride. "I centered the ship's drop hatch over you and lowered us to less than a motra off the deck. Stark hauled you inside, I sealed us up, and we took off."

John just nodded, unable to formulate a properly grateful response for someone who'd possibly just royally screwed her career for him.

A two-toned chime from the ship's speakers brought Aeryn's head up sharply. John recognized the signal-incoming transmission. She left the room quickly, heading back up to the command deck.

John was about to drift off to sleep again when Aeryn returned, her expression bemused.

"What was it?" he asked blearily.

"Orders. From Captain Crais."

"And?"

Aeryn glanced down at John, her mouth breaking into a rare smile, eyes dancing with humor. "I've been ordered to retrieve Crewman John Crichton from Scorpius' gammak base, by whatever means I deem necessary."

John felt a hysterical, irrational giggle bubble up from his chest. It hurt, and there was no humor in it, but he couldn't help laughing. "Do you want me to go back so you can start over?" he asked when he could speak.

Aeryn just looked at him, then rolled her eyes in an all-too-familiar gesture of exasperation.

"Humans," she muttered.


End file.
